


Cowboy Jones: Dark Matter

by AdamantEve



Series: Cowboy Jones [5]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, F/M, Inspired by Firefly, Mercenaries, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Science Fiction, Slavery, Soldiers, Space Cowboys - Freeform, bounty hunter jughead, inspired by cowboy bebop, mechanic betty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-08-28 19:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 54,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16729515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantEve/pseuds/AdamantEve
Summary: “Everybody lies, princess,” Gladys had said to her. “If you’re going to find the truth, you need to remember that. I will help you. Whatever you need that I can give you, I will help you, because those fuckers at the ESDC are up to something. I trust you to find my boy, but I can’t have you go into this a bright-eyed bunny. I need you to go in swinging. I need you to be the biggest bitch in the room. Can you do that, Betty?”She said she could, and she has been.  Or something like it, after a fashion.





	1. The Journey

 

Kestra Prime was not a small planet, by any means. It was roughly the size of Saturn, with rings and satellites around it, dense on its surface and complicated, but survivable in its atmosphere. It should have been thriving, with vast civilizations, but it was a planet so dwarfed by its titanic neighbors that it had literally been overshadowed for millennia and could not have been found were it not for its once reflective atmosphere. It was discovered hundreds and hundreds of years ago, before wormholes were real and warp speed brought planets closer—a diamond in the rough.

By the time humans reached it, its glow was gone and it had vast patches of barren wasteland. Astrophysicists claimed that its discovery in the sky was but the ghost of its former self, that what they were seeing in their telescopes was its dying breath. What it was now was what it has been for the last one thousand years.

But when it used to lay in peaceful death, now the planet was alive with chaos and ruin.

It was a corridor for conflict between the more populated warring worlds, now invaded by various sentient species all vying for ownership. It was a melting pot for greed.

Kestra Prime was rich in minerals and raw metals, and between its rock surface and its core, there were collectively millions of miles of dirt to dig through, and in the galactic arms race, it was a planetary Golden Goose.

Civilized planetary nations refused to claim they were any of the invading species. Those who came in with their planetary soldiers claimed they only did so to retrieve their people. Most of the conflict on its surface was driven by mercenaries, all of whom refused to name their clients.

There were colonies on Kestra Prime, all of them driven by different planetary governments.  None of the accords would’ve allowed for their existence, but with the planet so far away, it was easy for the Galaxy Alliance to turn away and let the planets settle the matter for themselves. It took time and money pursue justice and enforce order. Something had to give.  

This was the galaxy’s little corner of savagery.

People of various species died on it each passing day in secret wars waged for pockets of control, and planets sent soldiers to try and temper the tides of hostility, whether it was to actually save lives or to quiet the inconvenient noise it might cause, no one knew.

The ESDC only recently decided to send in their troops. Too many human men and women had gone missing and unless the government could show they were doing something about it, someone might actually kick up a fuss and cause a media riot.  In one of their first missions, they lost an entire transport ship of soldiers.

Betty moved sluggishly, her air tank a weight on her back and her mask heavy on her face, but it wasn’t those things that were slowing her down—ultimately, the equipment was light enough to be hauled around easily in wild terrain.

It wasn’t Kestra Prime’s atmosphere, either. The gravity of the planet was practically equal to that of Earth, and even if the wind was blustery enough to wipe any craft trails from the sandy ground, it wasn’t anything close to arctic, or even stormy.

It was none of those things. What was weighing on her bones was exhaustion, with a mixture of despair and dread.

It had taken three weeks for her to get to this point, where she followed the trail of breadcrumbs leading up to the information of where Jughead’s team had been sent.

She had used deceit, leadership, and sheer will, to find every morsel of data that would point her in the right direction.

Now she was here, her homing ring and his leading her to this war-torn landscape of barren sand and rock, where she stood at the crest of a hill staring at the damaged remains of Jughead’s spaceship.

This wasn’t his sleek fighter craft--not the one he used in dogfights and aggressive tactics. This was a transport ship, and according to the brief, there were six other soldiers with him when his craft got shot down.

There appeared to be structural damage from a rough landing, but most of the ship seemed intact.

Betty believed Jughead landed them safely enough that they survived the crash, and if the ESDC was being truthful, they checked the ship for bodies.

_Or maybe that was a lie, too…_

She closed her eyes, remembering, of all people, Gladys’ words.

 _“Everybody lies, princess,”_ Gladys had said to her. _“If you’re going to find the truth, you need to remember that. I will help you. Whatever you need that I can give you, I will help you, because those fuckers at the ESDC are up to something. I trust_ you _to find my boy, but I can’t have you go into this a bright-eyed bunny. I need you to go in swinging. I need you to be the biggest bitch in the room. Can you do that, Betty?”_

She said she could, and she has been.  Or something like it, after a fashion.

 

_********************_

 

_Betty Cooper couldn’t help but listen to the clack of her own heels against the shiny marble flooring._

_It sounded like a drumbeat. Steady and calm, masking her feelings of urgency--of unrelenting anxiety and emotional pain._

_She was in a business suit, a simple black blazer and pencil skirt ensemble, with a white blouse paired with a lovely red scarf that Jughead had bought for her in one of their flea market forays._

_Her hair was twisted in an impeccable bun, every strand smoothed back with nothing out of place._

_She felt caught in a nightmare of her past, except that the stakes were higher and the money, the prestige, and parental approval--none of it mattered in the least.._

_Walking through the entryway, she noticed how even in this satellite office, all the way out in the edge of the 2nd and 3rd quadrant, the executive office was unnecessarily cavernous._

_The receptionist was waiting for her by the main office’s doors, a welcoming smile plastered on her lips. “Good morning, Ms. Cooper. Your father is waiting for you inside.”_

_The door yawned open and Betty walked through._

_The office was vast and luxuriant. With its dark oak accents, artful engine displays, and model spacecrafts, it looked exactly like the kind of office Hal Cooper would have._

_By the floor to ceiling windows, looking out towards the magnificent Galatea star system, was the holographic visage of her father._

_His hologram was clear and in high resolution. He looked so real that Betty felt her stomach clenching with anxiety. But for the very slight signal delays, this hologram was the best to be had in the galaxy._

_She was glad, at least, that she would be spared the awkwardness of having to figure out whether a handshake or cheek kiss would be appropriate. She stood where she was and didn’t bother to approach._

_“Good morning, daddy. As promised, I’m here for my first day back at work.”_

_He turned and smiled. “Betty, my dear! You don’t know how happy I am to see you! And I knew, dear. I knew you would come back to me.”_

_Breathing to control her emotions, she told herself that this was just a way to get through to the other side of the wall. This was only the first step._

_The ESDC had blocked all authorized entrances and gates, so she had to create her own passage. This was a means to an end._

_“Yes, of course,” she replied. “As usual, you always know what’s best.”_

 

*******************

Betty unstrapped the mask from her face.

Oxygen was present in the atmosphere, according to the briefs, but tanks were necessary because the air was thinner in certain parts of the vast planetary expanse.  

As she breathed to test the air, she felt no weight on her chest. The air was breathable, but her anxiety was strangling her.  The buckles on her mask felt more oppressive than comforting.

If she were being honest with herself, she was feeling terrified that they were looking at the end of their journey.  

She felt the pressure of someone’s hand on her shoulder.

“He’s not in there,” Malachi told her, his own mask loosened from his face.  “The report said they couldn’t find his body. Jones is hard to miss.”

If she listened well enough, she could hear the slightest of slurs where the bullet that once shot through his face had damaged part of his tongue. Most of the scars on his face had gotten smoothened over by laser grafting, and his jaw worked perfectly, so were it not for that barely perceptible speech impediment, Malachi’s self-proclaimed charm hadn’t diminished in the least.

Betty appreciated his constant wisecracking—his unfailing impulse to make a joke of everything. It reminded her of how annoyed Jughead would be with him, and how amusing that was to everyone else, because it was Malachi.

Jughead might be livid to find out that she has enlisted the help of Malachi to aid in her search of him.

“JB,” came FP’s voice on the other side of her. “Have the drones scan for signatures.”

“Roger that.” Jellybean’s lilt filtered through all their earpieces—Malachi and his crew, Jughead’s friends from Pop’s: Sweetpea, Joaquin, Fangs, Sabrina, and Toni, and finally her and FP.

Joaquin was on the Wyrm with Jellybean, piloting it. He lost the coin toss with Toni, who was the only other pilot in Jughead’s crew.

They weren’t an army. Not even a squadron, but they were enough, and they were all here for Jughead. They all, except for Betty, had combat training and experience. What little Betty had in that regard, she made up in the brilliance of her mind and her conviction to lead, and she had to believe that would get them through.

They’d made it this far, anyway.

“Scanners indicate two inanimate bodies,” Jellybean reported. “I can’t identify them. No other organic matter is present.”

“Guess we’ll have to go see for ourselves,” Sweetpea said, moving forward.

Betty put her hand out to stop him. “JB, switch the drone sensors to Mode F. It’ll scan for explosive substances.” She knew these drones. She programed them herself.

Jellybean affirmed the mode switch. After a few minutes, she relayed the report. “Explosive device detected around the ship’s exterior entrance. Grenade, and signature’s showing that the pin may or may not be detached. I can have a drone transport it away, but we may lose the drone in the process.”

They had half a dozen drones and Betty had no problem building a replacement. “Do it.”

“Drone #5 taking one for the team.”

There were a few minutes of fascinated silence as one of the drones buzzing around the ship appeared to pick up a package outside and began to fly it further away. Several yards into its flight, the grenade exploded, sending sand and rocks flying. Several rocks hit the ship, but what fire the explosion generated began to get drowned by the sand, blown into it by the blustery air.

“Sad,” Jellybean said.

Betty couldn’t help but grin. “Is that the only one, then?”

“Trace amounts of nitrate inside the ship. Residue levels. Something exploded in there.”

Betty exchanged looks with FP. If the ship got shot down, why was the residue inside?

“Could’ve been a malfunction in the jet thrusters,” Toni suggested. “Could’ve been the cause of the crash.”

“Yeah, but why would the ESDC report say they got shot down?” Sabrina asked, voicing Betty’s suspicions.

“Eye witness report could’ve been wrong,” Fangs suggested.

One of Malachi’s crew, Shelly May, snorted. “Right. An interior explosion could be seen from the outside, eh? Makes perfect sense.”

Betty gave her a nod of agreement. She liked Shelly May’s no-nonsense attitude. FP told her that Shelly May was the woman who stood guard overnight at the Wyrm’s brig when they had the Sugarman on board, and Betty was glad when Malachi named her as one of his volunteer crew on this mission, because not only did she look formidable with her short blonde hair and incredibly defined arms and shoulders, she clearly and unabashedly threw her support behind Betty when she needed it. As dedicated and decent as all the men were, clearly none of them have ever taken orders from a woman. Jughead’s authority over them did not transfer to Betty, and Betty had expected that, but that they were more bullheaded about it than Malachi, of all people, was a bit of a surprise.

She supposed there was more of the Maverick in Malachi than she gave him credit for.

Betty’s suspicions about the ESDC report was gaining credence. She had suspected that some parts of it were inaccurate, and she had to suss out what parts of it were true if she was going to find Jughead alive. She would worry about _who_ was responsible for the lying when she found him.

_When._

She had to keep telling herself _when,_ not _if._

_Dead or alive._

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

 

********

 

_The satellite office was one big main office in itself, with a full arsenal of employees, its own corporate culture, and its own set of departments. Its function was to create and distribute ships that deep space travelers needed._

_Where the Earth-based office crafted and sold trendy, pioneering ships with incredible capabilities and slick designs, this satellite office all the way out in the Terella star system focused on muscle and longevity. Of course, this meant that Betty’s Forever Engine was even more sought after in this part of the galaxy, so it did make a lot of sense that she would be given a role all the way out here._

_Her father made it clear that the end goal was for her to go back to Earth, but he was amenable to pull her back in stages. He didn’t mind easing her back in. The important thing to him was that she was back in the Cooper Gestalt Corporation payroll. To him, from this point on, it was only a matter of time._

_Betty’s goals weren’t as long-term. On her first day back at work, she needed access to information that was not in this satellite office but may be available in its network._

_“You need to get me access to the office servers, Betty,” Jellybean had instructed her.  “For that, you need to find the server rooms and plug this booster drive into the New York server. The signal’s going to start making waves right after mom activates it, which means I’ll have 3 minutes to get into the network, and 1 more minute before the drones find the drive. When I’m done and I’ve shut down the drive, you need to take the drive and dispose of it so that no one cottons on to what we’ve done. We don’t have a lot of time, but it should be enough.”_

_The booster drive rested heavily in Betty’s pocket, along with a couple of “distractions” she could deploy. The drive was a device that carried with it, not only their hopes, but the depths of Gladys’ concern for her son, however unclear that had been in the past._

_It was Gladys that made the use of this device possible. Without Gladys’ resources, without her access to the mega satellites that carried the programming signals of the company she worked for, the booster drive would be worthless hardware. Gladys’s help was something Betty would never forget. It was a gesture that Betty would revisit with her later, hopefully with Jughead by her side._

_For now, she had to concentrate on the task ahead._

_She had no idea where anything was, as of yet, but because corporate culture was a tangibly dependable beast, she was now being walked through the facility by their friendly, neighborhood HR person. First day was orientation day, and Betty took the opportunity to ask all her facility and new hire questions._

_A camera was mounted in a pendant draped delicately against her throat. It was a live camera feed, the waves of which were disguisable amidst all the digital signals, so both Jellybean and Gladys were definitely watching from the other side. There would be no audio between them and Betty could only hope the video feed was dependable._

_The HR manager, a Xuxerian whose body hovered over the ground by his own magnetic field, escorted her throughout the tour. Thin as a reed and majestically blue, he was also very tall, so Betty had to look up to speak to him, but he seemed very enthusiastic and was more than happy to answer all of her questions._

_As they passed a set of huge double doors, Betty pointed to it and asked where it led._

_“Oh, we call it the Tower of Boredom,” said Reed. She learned that this was not his real name, but the humans called him that because his actual name was unpronounceable in the human tongue. “They contain our company servers. Only the IT folks like going in there. It’s intensely deadening in there. Legend has it that a marketing person went in there and has been lost ever since.”_

_Betty couldn’t help but be amused by this piece of office lore.  “I see. Can I go in, anyway? As you can imagine, I’m a big tech geek. I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind.”_

_Reed began to stammer slightly. Of course, everyone knew who she was, and not many employees could complain, since her Forever Engine practically ensured their employment for the next five Earth years. Normally, she abhorred name-dropping her father, but in this circumstance, she had no problem being ruthless about it._

Biggest bitch in the room.

_This was for Jughead. She would do anything for him._

_“O-Of course,” Reed said. “Let me see if there’s a technician who might be available to show you around.”_

_Reed blinked into the identification panel on the side of the door and the panels opened to let them through._

_The facility was vast and spanned several floors up and down. Each floor looked out to a circular cavern in the center, an energy core thrumming quietly from the lowest floor to the highest ceiling.  Each floor was railed and visible from each central vantage point, and from what Betty could see, the facility looked huge, filled with endless racks and towers of hardware that housed company data. She could see dozens of Cedonias flying around and between the shelves, the occasional droid glided along the floors._

_The air was crisp, cold, and dry._

_For a moment, Reed looked confused as he looked from left to right._

_“Apologies,” Reed said with clear uncertainty. “I believe it’s…”_

_A Cedonia came up to them and spoke in her soothing voice. “May I help you?”_

_Reed looked relieved. “Yes. Our new transfer, Betty Cooper, would like to see the facilities. Is there a technician available to show her around?”_

_There was a pleasant beep, and suddenly Cedonia’s voice was replaced by an irritable drawl. “Betty Cooper? Isn’t she--”_

_“Yes. Whatever you’re thinking, yes, that’s her.”_

_“Fuck.”_

_“Mr. Chandola. She is listening to you as of this moment.”_

_“Are you--” he cried, sighing. “Thanks a lot, Reed. I’ll be right over.”_

_Betty had a feeling that Mr. Chandola wasn’t actually being grateful. Moments later, a young man in light khakis, a buttoned up blouse, and a sweater vest appeared. He shot Reed a scowl before turning an only slightly better expression at Betty._

_“Hello, I’m Krishang Chandola,” he said, extending a hand to Betty._

_She shook it with a friendly smile plastered to her lips. “Hello. It’s very nice to meet you. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m sure you’re very busy.”_

_“Oh, not at all. I’m happy to show you around. Reed, want to join us?”_

_“Not in the least--I mean, if you don’t mind, I can skip this part. Be a dear and let me know when you’re done showing Betty around?”_

_“Sure thing, honey.”_

_Reed frowned but nodded without a complaint. “Thank you. Betty, I’ll come by to fetch you for the rest of your orientation when you’re done here.”_

_“Thank you, Reed,” she replied, meaning it._

_When Reed glided away and through the doors, Krishang looked poised to go into a tirade, but with painful effort, he tried to look pleasant for Betty again. “Let me introduce you to the staff.”_

_He walked her through the maze of shelves where she took the opportunity to leave a couple of her so-called “distractions” surreptitiously. Krishang didn’t notice at all, since he was walking briskly ahead of her the entire way. They kept moving forward until they came to a wide open space. At each of the four furthest corners were desks, three of which were occupied by “the staff.”_

_Every desk was decorated according to what Betty presumed was the personality of its occupant, and while Betty did see hints of color and creativity in each workstation, implying that they_ could _be a warm and welcoming bunch, not a single staff member looked happy to see her at the moment._

_Krishang introduced her and when she said hi, none of them said hi back._

_“What’s the matter? Your mothers forgot to teach you manners?” Krishang barked._

_Muttered hellos followed his jibes and Betty turned to Krishang rather awkwardly. “They don’t have to--I mean--”_

_“As you can see, we like being holed up in this cave,” Krishang said, without blinking._

_Betty wasn’t deterred. “Understood. Can you tell me a little about what you do here?”_

_“Sure. As you know, we house all of Cooper Gestalt’s servers in this satellite location. Each floor holds data centers for the different corporate branches. If this place blows up, the whole company goes down in flames.” Krishang laughed._

_Betty wasn’t sure if she should. As much as she loathed her dad’s entitlement, she didn’t want thousands of employees losing their jobs._

_Krishang immediately stifled his laugh when he noticed his attempt at levity hadn’t landed. “N-Not that that’s funny. I mean, it’s funny horrifying, not funny funny.”_

_“I get it,” Betty said, hoping to put him at ease. “Are there no backup files?”_

_“There’s a databank farther out in the 3rd quad, in Hyperion, but they store that data raw.  If you look into that vault now, all you’ll see are piles and piles of data that would take a couple of years, if not more, to sort through. You’ll have a few dozen terabytes that are kept organized, but only for purposes of decrypting the rest. It’s like having your own personal Rosetta stone for your data, but if you want more of your stored data decrypted, you’ll need to pay a shit ton more money.”_

_Betty nodded. “And you guys do--what? Make sure the lights are on?”_

_Krishang nodded. “Most everything here can be activated remotely, but we’re here to make sure the hardware is in good condition and works as well as it should.  We get calls from the other offices everyday, telling us to reset things, clear caches, reroute data, shuffle bandwidth around… stuff like that.”_

_“Lovely. Can I take a look at the New York branch data center? I used to work there and it would be kind of interesting...”_

_“Sure. Hey, Chuck. You’re up.  Chuck here takes care of the Earth servers. He can tell you where the New York ones are.”_

_She turned to Chuck and she just caught him throwing Krishang a deadly look before his face transformed to neutral._

_He stood and she saw how tall he was. He was wearing standard gray office trousers, a nicely fitted button up tucked in at the waist and folded just up to his elbows, and good quality stylish shoes. Very business casual and pleasant. She smiled up at him but he didn’t quite smile back._

_“Right this way,” he said, turning to go deep into the shelves._

_She followed and they wound through the shelves until they reached what looked like a metal cage elevator. The doors to the elevator slid open and when they were both inside, chuck turned the dial to the 4th level. As the elevator moved, he told her that the Earth offices required two floors worth of servers._

_She engaged him in small talk and discovered that his full name was Chuck Clayton, and that back in the day, he was slated for a basketball career, but something happened that derailed his plans, now he was here, reporting to Krishang._

_“He’s not a bad boss,” Chuck said in a neutral tone. “But he isn’t a basketball coach, if you know what I mean.”_

_Betty stifled her smile of amusement. “I do. Maybe you can get back to basketball eventually?”_

_Chuck shrugged. “Not likely. Too old for it, already. And besides, it became evident that I couldn’t quite handle fame and fortune.”_

_“Too much fun?”_

_Chuck snorted. “I wouldn’t put it that way. I bet you can just reach into my HR file and dig up my history.”_

_She made a soft sound of dissent. “I only take out receipts if I have to. Do you think I have to?”_

_He shook his head and sighed. “Can’t stop you, but I ain’t that person anymore. At least, I hope I’m not that person anymore.”_

_Betty wished she had an earpiece to Jellybean. She was sure she can get Jellybean to dig up Chuck’s history. More than curiosity, it would be a good way to know how to extract information from him._

_When they reached the 4th floor, Chuck walked her through the aisles, giving her information about every section they passed.  As they talked, Betty injected questions Jellybean had taught her how to ask. Her goal was to find the exact server that she needed to plug the booster drive into._

_Several questions later, Chuck cast her a suspicious glare. “You ask an awful lot of questions.”_

_Panic overtook her and desperation kicked in.  She stepped closer, feathering her fingers lightly against the metallic surface of a shelf. Her idea, perhaps, of a seductive gesture. “I’m just really interested in your work…”_

_He watch her fingers trailing and she suddenly felt incredibly self conscious. She pulled her hand back, tucking it awkwardly against her side.  She was terrible at this._

_He eyed her intently, as if waiting for what she would do next._

_Heat crept up her neck and cheeks and she pursed her lips, biting back the sting prickling at her eyes._

_She needed this information. She needed to know. Every second they didn’t have information was a second Jughead was losing, too, and she would do what she had to do._

_But this idea that she had the gumption to harass a server technician, was foolish. Seducing strangers was not a talent she claimed. She was too much in her head and in her heart. Swallowing her shame, she lifted her chin, she went on to say, “But if you don’t know the answers to my questions, that’s fine.”_

_Chuck paused, as if to make sure she really wasn’t going to try anything, and her shame rooted deeper._

_“I have a lot of things to do, anyway,” she continued, turning to flee and wondering wildly about what she should do now. Perhaps she could sneak back into the server room later in the day and ask Jellybean to talk her through it--to find this port, if they can even get an audio bridge in a pinch. She didn’t even know if Gladys would be in the position to give them the boost they needed at a different time. For all Betty knew, this was the only window of time they had and she was fucking it all up by running away. She cursed her ineptitude at subterfuge and her failure began to flood her mind._

_“Wait,” Chuck said. “You don’t have to--I’m sorry. My mind jumped to--”_

_She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “Oh, no need to apologize. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”_

_“I can answer your questions. I’m not an idiot.”_

_“That’s not what I thought at all,” she said, quickly, halting her retreat. She stared back at him, her eyes apologetic and wide._

_Her thoughts were so far from thinking him an idiot that she was sorry he felt that way._

_The truth was, it both angered her and hurt her that she couldn’t go to her own father for answers. It pissed her off that she couldn’t ask Hal to give her full access to the ESDC account, because she couldn’t trust him not to tell the ESDC. She couldn’t afford for the ESDC to figure out she was snooping around, because the fact that they left Jughead behind--the fact that they didn’t try harder to recover him, was sending alarm bells up in her head._

_She couldn’t go to Hal for her troubles, because the moment she called Hal to tell him she wanted to come back and work for him again on a consultant capacity, his only question was,_ “And what does Mr. Jughead Jones have to say about that?” _in a smug, condescending tone._

 _The way he said Jughead’s name had lanced a knife through her chest, and she had an urge to lie and tell him that Jughead was totally fine with it, thanks very much, but she couldn’t bring herself to be vulnerable to Hal in any way. Instead, she said,_ “We’ll work it out.”

“Jughead is holding you back,” _was Hal’s clipped reply._

_She couldn’t bear to speak of Jughead any further after that, especially if Hal was going to spit his name out like that every time he said it._

_As she stared back at Chuck, she didn’t know what else to say._

_Chuck seemed mildly surprised by her. She didn’t know why, but it looked like he believed her assertions that she didn’t think he was dumb. “You were asking me something about data ports.”_

_She didn’t dare hope that this situation was salvageable, but  nonetheless she nodded. “I guess I was just curious if there were vulnerabilities in the system. I got in here so easily…”_

_Chuck arched an eyebrow “That’s because you’re the owner’s daughter and because Reed is one of the few actually authorized to come in here. If you were anyone else, the droids would’ve swarmed you with tasers and an alert would’ve roused the SWAT team.”_

_She laughed._

_“I’m not kidding.”_

_“Oh.”_

_Chuck cocked an amused smile, but seeing that she was convinced of the security, he went on with the tour. Betty had to stifle her sigh of relief, following after him without complaint. Eventually, he pointed out the New York servers._

_“This one right here?” Betty pointed out specifically for the camera to capture. “This tower?”_

_“That’s the main one. There are a dozen more dedicated to New York, but that’s the tower that routes the dispatch. Everything goes through it.”_

_Betty panned around her, noting the aisle number and bin. As Chuck talked, Betty slid her hand into her pocket and pressed the buttons that would detonate her bombs._

_It wasn’t the most elegant distraction, and she was in dire danger of being sussed out by these technicians, but she doubted they would dare accuse her of planting the bombs, especially if all trace of the bombs being there would be pulverized by the time they found it, and especially if the distraction didn’t cause any real damage, which they weren’t meant to. They were only really meant to create a loud sound, and perhaps release a minimal amount of smoke, if any at all._

_The bombs clapped through the facility one after another, three loud pops that were punctuated by startled yells. Chuck’s body jerked at the sound, and Betty employed a bit of acting herself, looking as startled as he was._

_“What in the world--?” Betty gasped._

_Chuck frowned and began to head for the elevator, forgetting about Betty entirely._

_Betty didn’t call his attention and in seconds, she was alone._

_She worked fast, slotting the booster drive into the port. It took but a second for the orange light on the drive to turn green. Gladys had connected the signal for the boost they needed and Jellybean was in and working._

_Betty activated the timer on her tag.  She was to give Jellybean 3 minutes, perhaps a few seconds more, depending on whether the light was green or orange. Green, and Betty had to assume that Jellybean was still working. Orange meant Betty could remove the drive. Whatever happened in that 3 minute approximation, she had to take the drive off at 4, or else the droids and Cedonias around the facility would zero in on the drive and Betty would get caught with it, jeopardizing the entire mission._

_Betty could hear the technicians in an uproar downstairs, blaming each other for one reason or another. They may find traces of the bomb, but the damage, if any, would be minimal._

_She looked at her tag and saw that two minutes had passed since the drive was first plugged in. The droids and Cedonias on the floor didn’t appear to be agitated, as of yet._

_It was after the 3 minute mark that a couple of Cedonias began hovering nearby._

_Betty watched the drive tensely for its light to change color._

_Another 15 seconds ticked by and Betty could hear the distinct sound of droids approaching._

_Just as Betty debated cutting the feed off prematurely and trying again another time, the light turned orange._

_Betty snatched the drive out with nimble fingers and placed it on the floor where she stomped on it heavily with her thick heel. When it was well and truly destroyed, she took the large pieces and stuffed them back into her pocket. The smaller pieces she kicked under the shelves. Instantly, the droids and the Cedonias nearby buzzed along without incident then scattered back between the shelves._

_She blew out a breath of relief and realized that the commotion downstairs had lessened, as well.  Peering over the fourth floor railing, saw the shadows of several agitated technicians. “Everything alright down there?”_

_“We’re fine!” Krishang’s voice, now familiar to Betty, called back.  “Just a freak explosion!”_

_“That sounds concerning.”_

_“No, no. Not really.  All systems seem to be functioning alright.”_

_“There has to be_ something _wrong,” Chuck said._

_The voices fell quiet, and Betty could only assume that the rest of the conversation was being held in a much lower decibel._

_Minutes later, Chuck reappeared through the elevator doors._

_Betty arched an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”_

_Chuck was still frowning, but he nodded.  “Where were we on the tour?”_

_She sighed. “You know what? I think I’ve overstayed my welcome here. I should head out and you guys can get back to your work, make sure everything’s working as expected--you know, get myself out of the way.”_

_He eyed her pointedly, and she had a distinct feeling that she wasn’t fooling him in the least, but he shrugged and gestured to the elevator. “Suit yourself.  After you.”_

_On their way down, Chuck said nothing, but she could feel the tension in the air. In her guilt, she believed it was because he suspected that she had caused those explosions._

_When they arrived at their workspace, Betty thanked Chuck and Krishang for their time._

_“I’ll see myself out,” she said. Nobody argued with her._

_As she hurried out of the facility, she ticked off a mental checkbox, hoping that Jellybean was able to do what she needed to do and telling herself that they were one step closer to finding Jughead._

We can do this, _she thought with renewed resolution._ We’re going to get Jughead back.

 

********

 

Jughead’s ship, a Carrier X7 Cruiser, was structurally sound and on solid ground, as of yet, but the landscape looked so eroded that Betty was afraid the earth beneath it could cave in at any moment.

Their group traveled the distance between the hill and the ship on their own two transport crafts. While the atmosphere appeared conducive to organic life, it was alien to all of them. It was safer to have some kind of protection or escape from unknown elements—like treacherous weather or hostiles.

The Carrier X7 Cruiser doors were open, and carefully, Betty, along with Sweet Pea, Shelly May, Sabrina, Malachi, and FP, entered the ship single file.

Sweetpea took the lead, sweeping the space ahead of him with his gun while the rest of them followed alert and ready to shoot at any given sign of danger. Toni and Fangs waited outside as lookout while the two other members of Malachi’s group, Ibarra and Udo, kept the land crafts running in case they needed a quick getaway.  

They passed the cockpit and Betty couldn’t help but think about how Jughead would have sat at the pilot’s seat, skillfully landing the ship as he told everyone to brace themselves.

She looked around her and at the feed of her homing ring on her tag. The ring wasn’t here.

She was glad, because having it on the ship meant he no longer had it with him.  

As they pushed further into the ship, they found the bodies, both badly injured and burnt. They were still in their seats, buckled to the innermost section, towards the back. They were both unrecognizable, and after a brief examination of them, FP looked up and said, “Their tags are gone.”

Sweet Pea nodded. “The others took ‘em. To bring back to their families.”

Malachi looked around. “Looters have taken everything that isn’t nailed down, looks like, but there’s still a lot we can take from this thing. It’s pretty intact.”

Betty scowled at him and he threw up his hands, laughing. “What?

She didn’t bother to explain. He knew what her look meant. As she stared at the furthermost wall, charred black, she immediately recognized the pattern on the soot, showing the origin of the explosion. Not that that wasn’t already clear from the gaping hole.

Shelly May ran her hand along the mouth of the damage. “The explosion was from inside.”

FP took a closer look. “Could’ve been damage to the thrusters blowing back into the passenger module.”

Betty shook her head. She knew what an engine blow back looked like. She’d headed up thousands of test cases herself in her father’s lab. She’d created protective interior walls for her own ships and she knew they were nearly impenetrable. “That wall between the engine and the crew has been proofed in thousands of ways. I can’t think of anything that would make a jet explosion come through to the interior of the ship. This was a bomb plant.”

She examining the immediate damage a bit closer. Taking a flashlight, she shone it into the hole. Her quick eye could tell that there was more than one bomb, and judging by the damage, the bomber either half-assed the charge or he or she meant to disrupt, rather than destroy. She knocked against something further in the hole. It was the protective plate, and while it was dented, it wasn’t damaged.  

The explosion would’ve filled the cabin with smoke, and there could’ve been circuit damage that might have disrupted ship controls.  There could’ve been smaller bombs. She’d need hours to examine the ship, hours she knew she didn’t have.

The two bodies nearby were collateral damage.

FP cursed under his breath and Betty tried to focus her thoughts. This was not an ideal scenario. Someone was a murderer and it was difficult to know whether that murderer was among the four soldiers that survived or if the murderer had screwed up the intensity of the bombs and was somewhere else in the galaxy, hoping Jughead and the other soldiers would never be found alive.  

Forcing herself to be objective, she began to take pictures. She needed this, because there had to be a reckoning. Whatever happened, she needed to put whomever did this, or maybe the ones who hired him or her, behind bars.

They examined more of the ship, with Sabrina looking into the supplies. “Survival kits and rations are mostly gone. Whether they got it or looters did, I couldn’t tell. If Jughead’s crew got most of it, that stuff could get them through two--three weeks. If they’re out there, they’re running out of time,”

“Why would they leave this ship?” FP asked. “They could’ve stayed here. Waited for help from here.”

“There was conflict here when they crashed,” Malachi pointed out. “It’s empty now, but it’s likely this place was swarming with hostiles when they touched ground. They had to get away, or hide somewhere else in the meantime.”

Betty went to the cockpit and tried to activate the communications panel. When it didn’t turn on, she took out a switchblade and jimmied the panel off so she could take a look at the wires. As she slid off the plate and internal wires spilled out, she saw that It was blown out from within. Short circuited. They would’ve appeared destroyed from mission control. With no signal or communication from the ship, it was no wonder headquarters called them MIA.

“Is there no other portable communication device?” Betty asked.

Sweetpea nodded. “There is. I checked and it looks like they took it with them, but out here, in this section of the galaxy, they would’ve needed a signal boost for the thing. There’s too much interference around--the large planets, the countless satellites… they would need to hook it up to something strong. The ship’s signal could’ve helped, but if they had to leave it in a hurry…”

“If they needed this ship, they wouldn’t have gone far,” Sabrina pointed out. “They would’ve circled the ship until the hostiles had left.”

Malachi shook his head. “They wouldn’t assume that the hostiles would just conveniently leave. They at least had to have had a plan B.”

“When we’re sent on missions to alien planets, we’re given the lay of the land,” Sabrina said. “We’re oriented on where enemy encampments and bases are, or where villages and settlements exist.  If they left this ship, that’s where they would be headed, wherever that is.”

Betty nodded and tried to reactivate the ship. There was no power.  

“Power cells are gone,” FP cried from the back.  “I doubt Jughead and his team brought it with them. Looters must’ve gotten those, too.”

Sighing, Betty gave up on the ship. What data was in its banks, it probably wouldn’t have been much if Jughead and the other soldiers left the ship in a hurry. They wouldn’t have been looking at maps arguing over where they should go, when they could’ve used that time to send out a signal.

“The homing ring’s still out there,” Betty said, trying to keep the despair from seeping into her voice. She tucked her rifle more firmly into her arms. “There’s nothing left here for us to learn.”

FP nodded and began to head out. The rest of the team followed.  

Betty almost wanted to laugh at how, amidst all of the ESDC-grade technology and her Phd level knowledge, it was a homing ring from a geeky box set, gifted by the love of her life, that was leading them in his direction.

 _Love conquers all,_ she thought, perhaps trying her hand at irony and sarcasm, only, she needed it to be true.

They piled back into the land crafts, following the signal Betty was relaying from her half of the homing ring.

*****************

_She found it in his bag._

_After they told FP of Jughead’s disappearance, the ESDC sent his things back through particle and molecular transport, or PMT. It was possible to beam inorganic matter and most processed foods, and it made sense that the technology had been developed by retail and food industry scientists. PMT was yet to be used on living things, as researchers who have experimented have so far come up with nothing but monstrous, horrifying results._

_When Jughead’s bag materialized in their ship’s PMT port, she, FP, and Jellybean stared at the duffel bag for a full minute before anyone moved._

_It was Hotdog’s forlorn howl that broke the silence._

_Jellybean just turned and left. She couldn’t bring herself to take it. Hotdog followed her, whining pitifully in her wake._

_FP broke down right there, in tears. “Jesus, I need a drink so bad.” A sob broke from his chest._

_Betty had squeezed his shoulders, fighting her own grief. “FP, call your sponsor. Call him right now. I’ll take care of this.”_

_FP didn’t insist. He just nodded and left for the bridge._

_The task of collecting Jughead’s things fell to Betty, and as she took the duffel in her hands, she felt the weight of it._

_Nonsensically, she gathered it into her arms and cried into its thick canvass._

_She curled up on the cold floor with it, sobbing at the very notion that the ESDC had already written him off, that if he were alive, somewhere, he was alone and possibly in pain._

_It took a lot of crying before she felt cleansed of the debilitating sadness. Her grief had settled to a dull, manageable pain, something she can walk with and exist with, there but not as crippling._

_She got up, carried the bag to his room, and started unpacking it._

_The clothes and things inside were neatly packed. She recognized the pieces, knew his books and devices. Between the pages of_ The Girl With A Dragon Tattoo _was a photo—an actual physical photo—of them, smiling in each other’s arms with a backdrop of the City of a Thousand Veils in Bal Arthuria, a planet in the 3rd quadrant that had thousands of ancient temples, sanctuaries for interplanetary monks. Its people lived off the land and its community, and all day, the sky was a sea of refracted light from its sun. Ribbons of gauzy colors rippled overhead, visible even in the day, but at night, it was dazzling and spectacular._

_Betty bit her lip to stave her tears again, telling herself she needed to stop breaking apart. She was feeling a little hopeless, yes. Her conversation with Moose the previous day had proven fruitless. His promise of getting her an appointment with his father got her a meeting with General Mason two Earth months from now. She couldn’t possibly wait that long, so she had to think of another way._

_She didn’t quite know where to start at the moment, and receiving this bag was doing nothing but plunge her thoughts into further misery._

_Nevertheless, this was busy work. She put Jughead’s things away, neatly, because he was coming back. He was coming home._

_She put his clothes in his closets and put his books back on their shelves, saved for the bookmarked one, which she put on his bed stand. She took his devices and put them on their respective charging stations, then she grabbed the two shoes that were in there to put away in his shoe cubbies._

_As she reached into each shoe to make sure there were no unwashed socks in them, her fingers felt the corner of a cube._

_Curious, she pulled it out._

_The box was made of a leathery material and it fit in her palm._

_She burst into tears before she even opened it, knowing what was inside. She pushed the lid open with her thumb, anyway, and she saw the ring, beautiful and thoughtful in its setting. She loved it. He knew she would love it._

_She remembered their last day on Earth, the day he left for the mission. They had dinner plans that evening at Veronica’s restaurant._

_Because he had gone away, she had dinner with Veronica, Toni, and Jellybean, instead. They all four ended up smoking legal weed in a Coffeeshop three blocks away._

_Betty recalled that she and Jellybean were so high that they both ended up asleep in Jellybean’s room at the Parc apartment. It was probably FP who draped the comforter on them both in the middle of the night._

_Five days later, after breaking from a wormhole, she received a recorded video message from Jughead. She remembered crying out at the vision of him, wearing his battle dress uniform and his beautiful, luscious hair shorn, almost down to its roots. He was grinning and rubbing his hands over his now, cropped hair, perhaps self-conscious about the way he looked, but he said nothing of it, explaining instead that he managed to get a chance to send a message out before his team got shipped off. He said he knew the Wyrm would be in hyperspace, that he wouldn’t actually be able to talk to her, but that he wanted to let her know that he missed her, that when he got back, he would take her out to somewhere nice, to make up for the missed date they were supposed to have on Earth._

_He said he missed FP and Jellybean, too, and that he was looking forward to seeing all of them again. He closed his message with a softly said, “I love you and I’ll see you soon.”_

_She closed the ring box and put it in his bed stand drawer._

_She wasn’t going to lose hope._

_Whatever it takes, she would find him._

 

*****************

 

“We’re closing in on the signal,” Betty said, watching the map projected from her tag.

All around them, the landscape of Kestra Prime remained mostly barren and dry, but as they traveled farther east, Betty noticed the increased frequency of foliage. Dry shrubs turned into cacti-like plants.

Where there were plants, there was water and possibly life.

There didn’t, however, seem enough to sustain animal survival, and because of this, Betty grew nervous. As they neared the signal of Jughead’s homing ring, she told herself that the stationary state of the signal could mean anything. It didn’t have to mean that Jughead had stopped moving permanently.

As they cleared the rocky hills, they came upon a vast valley with a resplendent display of colorful desert shrubs, beautiful spindly plants, and blooming trees. Cutting across the valley was a thin but active vein of water. It was an oasis, and it was so lovely that Betty was almost afraid she was imagining it.

“Water,” Toni whispered. She looked hopefully at Betty. “Is he here? He has to be.”

“We don’t know if that water’s fit for drinking,” Sweet pea said from the comm.  

Of course he was right, and so many terrible possibilities began to flood through Betty’s mind. What if Jughead had come here, saw the stream, and was too thirsty to check for its potability? What if he was lying dead on its shores? The ring was situated along the banks of it, unmoving for the last few hours.

He would never leave his tags and the homing ring behind. He always kept it close enough that it couldn’t just accidentally fall off. He always, _always_ made sure it was on him.

She swallowed, stifling her tears. She absolutely _was not_ going to break down in front of these men and women. She had to hold it together.

“The plant life is pervasive,” Shelly May said. “No matter how alien, plants need water. It’s probably potable.”

As they neared the site of the homing ring, they went deeper into the valley.

“Stop,” Betty cried, already opening the transport doors. “Stop here.”

“Find cover for these crafts,” Malachi said through the comm. “If that’s good water, we may not be that far from alien settlements. We don’t want the transports to give us away if we have to hide.”

After the team alighted, Ibarra and Udo began backing the transports beneath rock hangings and thick shrubbery.

Betty hurried down the banks, desperately following the ring’s signal. She was getting close and her heart was trying to keep up with her mix of dread and excitement.

Behind her, Fangs was crouching over the water’s edge, testing it quickly. She was only half paying attention when he said the water was drinkable, with trace amounts of lead.

She was searching, looking around her to find the source of the signal. She could feel their eyes on her, waiting for her instructions.

As she stood in the middle of the rolling creek, she had to stop herself from giving into her emotions. If Jughead were here--if he were alive, he would’ve called out to them. He would’ve received them as they spilled out of the crafts, and yet he hadn’t emerged.  

The ring should be within a twenty foot perimeter from where she was standing and there was nothing. She was fearing the worst and it was taking all of her willpower to keep her mind focused, to not give into despair.

She saw a hand sticking out from behind a shrub.  It looked bad, even from a distance. I looked shriveled. Decomposing and yet mummified at the same time. In spite of the presence of water, the atmosphere was extremely dry. It was like nature took turns breaking this body down and then preserving it.

Swallowing her grief, she stumbled towards the shrub, pushing aside its leaves and branches, and when she saw who it was, she burst into tears.

***************

_There was data. Endless streams of data.  Data that they were only able to access because Veronica scored an invitation to General Mason’s home._

_They were receiving data because Veronica was schmoozing with guests while Toni broke into General Mason’s highly secure home office.  Toni was able to break in because Jellybean had associations of ill repute that helped her crack the security code. They_ needed _to break into General Mason’s office because they needed access to the ESDC files, which could be done remotely._

_All this had become possible because the data they were able to download through their deception gambit in the Cooper Gestalt Corporation’s satellite office helped Jellybean breakthrough ESDC firewalls, and they knew what files to look for because Betty spent hours following the papertrail from her father’s extensive but proprietary documentation. Through the many corporate files, Betty was able to pinpoint the names of the officers involved in the ESCD mission Jughead was sent on._

_What information they needed wasn’t buried as deep as they thought it would be. The when and where was accessible information. The Why eluded them still.  At this point, it seemed unimportant, or at least something that could wait._

_Betty can find out the why, later, and along with that, who._

_It took about 5 minutes for Jellybean to get everything she needed, charm and cunning on Veronica’s part, daring and bravery on the part of Toni._

_After Veronica and Toni confirmed that they were in the all-clear, Betty and FP turned to Jellybean hopefully._

_“Well?” FP asked.  “Did we get it? Do we know?”_

_Jellybean looked up from her dashboard, and while her eyes were dry, they were filled with wonder.  “I know where he crashed._ We _know where he crashed.”_

_Betty felt numb, and if it weren’t for FP’s strong arms enveloping her, she might have stayed numb for hours._

_“You did it, Betty. You found my boy,” FP said._

_She refrained from saying that they haven’t found him yet, but this was closer--much closer, than where they were two weeks ago._

 

***************

 

“It’s not him,” she said immediately, lest FP and Jellybean stumble into their own fits of grief. She breathed and controlled her emotions, staunching her tears and speaking in a clear voice. “It’s not Jughead.”

She didn’t want to call it relief.  It seemed wrong. But it _was_ relief, and it _was_ hope. The poor soul whose body she was staring at was another one of the men on the ship. She recognized his face from the files.

Private Button.  His dead decomposing eyes, partially eaten by carrion insects, stared up at her from a grotesquely blue face. As the team came up behind her, many of them turned away in horror, unable to look at his body for long.

Betty wasn’t a doctor, but as a scientist, she had an incredible ability to compartmentalize. She didn’t react to decomposition in the same way. She could stare at a dead body and think about the chemistry, the ecology, and the pathology of if all. Her brain catalogued the stages of decomposition and the possible causes of death.  

There was a wound on the side of Private Button’s head. Looking closer, she saw part of his skull caved in. She looked around the body, searching for _it._ The murder weapon.

It wasn’t that far away. There was a rock, rough and jagged. Big enough to kill but small enough to lift with one hand. There was blood on one side of it, crusted on the ridges.

Betty examined the body further. Saw some cuts, some bruising, and from the corner of her eye, she found a gun.  She was about to go to it, pick it up to read its story, but her eyes fell on Private Button’s hand, saw the glint of steel and something else.

Prying his hand open, she saw the tags.

 

JONES,

FORSYTHE P. III

5098377273

O POS

NO PREFERENCE

 

There, too, was the homing ring.

Finding pieces of him—evidence that Jughead was somewhere, probably alive, threw her mental state in a soup of both hope and anxiety, and if she gave in to the storm, she would do nothing but curl up into a ball and cry, but there was work to be done. She could give in to her agita later.

She took the tags and the ring. The chain that had been holding both was broken.

Why did they have to ram a stone against his head? Why did Private Button have Jughead’s tags in his grasp? Why didn’t Jughead retrieve them later, after the scuffle?

The distant sound of crafts cut through her thoughts and Betty looked up at her teammates with urgency.

“Everyone take cover!” FP said, diving into the rocks.

They scattered, hiding in the foliage and landscape. Their party melted away and Betty, ducked behind a bolder, looked up as the drone of particle rockets and engines grew louder and the ground vibrated from the sound waves.

Several smaller crafts whizzed by, followed by a slower, bigger craft that cast a shadow over the valley.

“Are you seeing this, JB?” Betty whispered over her communicator.

“I have signals coming in, but I don’t have a visual just yet. Are they hostile? Do you need a pickup?”

“Ready when you are,” Joaquin’s voice cut through their conversation.

“We just need a visual—find out what’s up with this convoy,” Betty said.

“Roger that. Sending out a drone,” Jellybean said.

Nobody contradicted her, and it was a wonder, really, that any of them were deferring to her at all. A couple of weeks ago, Sweetpea was telling her he wasn’t taking orders from the silly little rich girl, “No matter how brilliant the cap thinks she is.” Fangs took Sweetpea’a side, naturally, and Joaquin looked unhappy about the way she was trying to give them instructions. Toni looked unimpressed, too, but Veronica had sweet talked her into giving Betty a chance.

It was only through FP’s and Jellybean’s support, and later Malachi and Shelly May’s casual acceptance of her lead, that warmed Jughead’s crew to her leadership.

Betty knew she had no experience leading a tactical team, but she had leadership experience from her corporate job, which was its own pit of vipers. She certainly had the brains and she had the mountain-sized will and motivation to get this done. She may not have looked like much, but she wasn’t going to let anyone tell her no.

“They’re surrounding Jughead’s craft, B,” Jellybean said through the feed. “I’ve got some audio coming in… it was the explosion. They picked it up and thought something was going down.”

Betty cursed. “Can they track us?”

“Unlikely. The winds have swept away your trails. But stay low. They’ll be on the lookout for anything, I’m sure.”

Betty looked across the way at FP and Malachi who both nodded, hearing Jellybean’s recommendation.

“Can you get a drone to hitch a ride with them?” Betty asked.

“Way ahead of you, sis. I’ve already got two making a nest on the mother.”

The mother was probably the biggest ship in the squadron.

“So, good news,” Jellybean said, minutes later. “They found the drone that detonated the explosive. Alas #5…”

Betty managed a small smile, however worried she was. “And?”

“They’re chalking it up to looters scoping the crash site. They don’t think there’s anyone to look out for, but stay hidden, anyway. Make yourselves comfortable. I have no idea how long they’ll stick around.”

Betty made no sound of complaint. The others certainly weren’t complaining. This was something they’ve had to do before.

She, however, never had to sit still.

“We’ll have to wait in the crafts,” Malachi said. “It’ll get deadly cold out here and we can’t have a fire.”

Everyone agreed. They went back into the crafts and Betty settled in her seat, wondering about the 300 pound gorilla in the room: Where do they go from here?

********************

_This was not the kind of literature she was expecting to read that night._

_As she stared at the proposal that won her father’s company the ESDC contract, she could feel her fingernails dig into her palms with painful force._

_Her body trembled at the mention of her Forever Engine powering and enhancing the weapons that Cooper Gestalt Corp. promised to build for wars they were yet to have. And already peppered throughout the proposal was her name, Elizabeth Cooper, Lead Engineer._

_She read through the entire proposal, feeling more and more like J. Robert Oppenheimer, watching his creation’s destructive power. “I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”_

_The proposal closed with the heavy handed implication that she, Elizabeth Cooper, would be on-hand to make more technology that would be beneficial to their partnership._

_Betty flung the tablet against the engine room wall and tried to relish the sound of  its glass casing smash to pieces._

_It exploded into shards and ruined pieces of hardware, and Betty wished she could get satisfaction from it, but all she felt was empty and betrayed._

 

********************

“Captain Jones.”

Jughead looked up from his labors, the load of rocks he was hauling causing his right shoulder to flare with pain, but he couldn’t stop, at least not long enough to be noticed by the guards.

The whole work cycle of hauling and moving rocks, emptying and filling, lifting and pulling, was designed to subjugate, to wear down, to assert the dominance of their captors.  

There were power tools a plenty, machines that could do the bigger rocks and and heavier payloads. Those were handled by hired contractors, but there was precision work, unavoidable in an operation such as this, which required manual labor, with minimal tools, and lots of sweat and blood.  

It was a job nobody in their right mind wanted, so it was the job they forced slaves into. Slaves were given food, water, and a doctor who patched them up so they can work another day.  

Slaves who questioned the guards were beaten and thrown in isolation. Slaves were only killed if a replacement was ready to take their place. Of the three soldiers Jughead made it there with, only he and Private Harvey Kinkle were alive.  

The other two had already succumbed to the violence of their captivity, the first to the slave riot that broke out the first day they arrived, the second to the excessive force employed by one of the guards.

Jughead and Harvey made it by keeping a low profile.  To Jughead, this was biding his time. He needed to figure out how to get out of this. It’d been weeks since their ship crash landed, weeks since Private Button tried to shoot him in the back of the head, and weeks since they were caught unaware by the slavers and brought to this colony to work, and the only insight into any opportunity they could have to escape lay in his daily visits to Doctor Steven Masters, the resident human on staff who, while employed by their captors, couldn’t quite leave his post out of sheer humanitarian reasons--if not him, then it would be some other alien doctor who could seriously harm the humans in the populace.

“What is it, private?” Jughead grumbled beneath the roar of heavy machinery around them. His own hair tumbled over his eyes and his facial hair was getting a bit overgrown.  They were due to shave him bald soon, something their captors only did to avoid lice infestation. It was also the only reason slaves were required to get cleaned at all. Slave showers were not pleasant places. It was a dry cleanse, with no water to feel refreshed. Dirt was lasered and then vibrated off their bodies. Effective, but not exactly rejuvenating.

As Jughead had joked, this wasn’t exactly a spa.   

His good humor was few and far between. He tended to be a lot crankier, most times, like right now. He didn’t like talking to Harvey while they were working. It was too much grief being caught talking on the job.  Guards were always suspicious of what prisoners were up to, and for good reason, perhaps. The riot killed guards, as well. Nobody wanted to die.

Of course, Jughead could say that if this whole operation weren’t so heinous, doing things like capturing people and making them work against their will, the guards wouldn’t have to be looking over their shoulders all the time, but Jughead wasn’t about starting a revolution. His goal was to get out of here with Harvey.

“Paid a visit to the doc,” Harvey said, wiping the sweat from of his brow.  Kestra Prime wasn’t a terribly warm planet, but here in the mines, working for hours on end, melting away was a way of life.  

Jughead emptied his container and moved back to the end of the line.  Harvey walked with him.

“Anything new?”

Harvey nodded. “Convoy was sent back out to the desert.  They detected an explosion. Might be nothing, but it could be something.”

Jughead arched an eyebrow. “New slaves.”

“Could be, but it could also mean a rescue team.  It’s about that time, don’t you think?”

 _About that time._ He didn’t want to tell Harvey that if the ESDC wanted to rescue them, it should’ve happened weeks ago.  He didn’t want to stamp away Harvey’s hope, because that was what was keeping the young man going.

Either way, Jughead had no intention of dying here, so he needed Harvey optimistic.  

The first week they were here, Jughead had eyed the tables of body bags at the infirmary.  He thought perhaps there might be a way he and Harvey could hide in the bags and be brought outside the boundaries of the colony, where they could make their escape.  

Doctor Masters had nixed the idea immediately.  “Those bodies get incinerated, Jones. You get in that bag, you’re going straight into the kiln.”

Jughead tossed that idea out then, thinking that they had to get out of there on their own two feet. He had used his lowly status to find his way around the colony, noting vulnerabilities in security. He’d found a few escape routes, but they all led out to the desert, where the elements would kill them if the guards couldn’t.

If they were going to get out of here, they needed to jack a ship, and to jack a ship, he needed to form alliances. That took time and he didn’t know how long his body can last through the abuse.

He was strong _now,_ but already he was feeling the effects of hard labor and poor living conditions. The food and water was just enough so that the slaves can work, but the sleep was never enough, and that was by design. And exhausted slave wouldn’t have enough energy to spare thinking of ways to escape. If Jughead weren’t so stubborn, if he weren’t so hell-bent on returning to his family, of returning to _her,_ Jughead’s hope might have wasted away weeks ago.

Harvey remained buoyant because he just seemed like that kind if guy.  He had a brother, he said, who never stopped believing in him and if that was enough for Harvey, Jughead figured he didn’t have to work that hard to keep Harvey’s spirits up, which was one less thing he had to think about.

Harvey was young. Jellybean’s age, and the moment they crash landed in the desert, Harvey had somehow become Jughead’s responsibility by default.

“Captain Jones?”

Once again, Jughead found himself looking up from his work. He hadn’t even realized he was looking down.

“You aren’t giving up on me, are you?” Harvey asked. “You got your girl, remember? She’s waiting for you back home.”

Jughead kicked his brain into gear. “Y-Yeah. I mean, I’m not giving up, Private. I’m going home to my girl, for sure—“

A commotion ahead caused the line to halt, and shouts began to ring out.

Harvey climbed a crevice to see what was going on. “Someone’s fallen… _shit,_ it’s Pai. Jug, Pai’s on the ground and he can’t get up. The guards are hurting him.”

Jughead saw the grim determination on Harvey’s face. They knew Pai. The Lumerian, a species of similar height and built to humans, except for their more serpentine features and dark blue skin, shared a cell with them. Pai had been incredibly exhausted lately, which was no surprise. He’d been here longer—had suffered more abuse. Pai was at breaking point.

“Private,” Jughead warned. “We stay low, remember? We keep—“

“We gonna stand by and let the line trample him to death?” Harvey asked with conviction.

The guards weren’t explicitly allowed to kill slaves without a replacement, but if the slave fell along the line and got crushed underfoot, guards weren’t culpable for it.

The line was already moving. Jughead cursed under his breath. He dropped his tools and surged ahead to get to Pai who was already sprawled half-unconscious on the ground.

A guard pushed Jughead back. “Pai!” He cried as he stumbled back but pushed forward. On the other side of the trench, Harvey was pushing forward with the same determination.

Jughead stared back at a guard. “He needs a doctor!”

The guard barked something back that Jughead could never hope to understand, but Jughead knew the guard understood him. They had translators.

“We’ll bring him to the doctor,” Jughead insisted. “Do you want to lose another slave? You already killed Mugen a couple of days ago!”

The guard glared at him with his sharp, purple gaze. Verduni, is what Jughead was told he was. The Verduni guard turned his attention to Harvey’s handler, nodding as he said something gruffly.

Harvey was pushed to the ground beside Pai and Jughead’s stomach dropped with dread. He braced himself for a fight. If they hurt Harvey, Jughead couldn’t just stand by and let them.

But the guard pointed to Pai, then to Harvey. The gesturing transitioned to the direction of the healing facilities.

Harvey nodded, gathering Pai by his armpits and dragging him up. “Come on, man. Let’s go. Try to push yourself up. I got you.”

Pai gave a groan but he had just enough to help Harvey drag him off.

Jughead watched them with relief, but as the guard turned back to him with an intensely angry gaze, Jughead knew he was about to be made an example of. He had dared to speak up. Dared to talk a guard down.

He felt the first blow land in the back of his knees.

Jughead folded immediately. After that, he couldn’t count how many bone jarring hits landed. Pain rained on him, beating him, silencing him.

Something around his ankle crunched and he screamed in agony. His vision blurred and his consciousness began to dull. He couldn’t feel much of the blows anymore, and perhaps they stopped and he didn’t know it.

As he went in and out of consciousness, he could see the scenery changing, could feel the ground beneath him shifting textures.

Minutes later, they were dumping his limp body in another place. A quiet place.

And then he was alone in the dark.

He was breathing. He was bleeding, too, and it hurt to move.

He wanted to lie there in his awkward position, but if he did, gravity would twist him further. He tried lifting his arm and pain lanced through his body.

_Out of the night that covers me…._

He closed his eyes. Jellybean’s voice was distant in the sea of pain.

_Say it motherfucker._

He tried moving his other arm and it hurt a lot less.

_Black as the pit from pole to pole,_

He pushed his body up and he groaned as pain throbbed through his body.

_Say it motherfucker._

He coughed to clear his throat, spitting out some of the blood that had pooled beneath his tongue.

“Out of the night,” he breathed as he moved, inch by inch, to settle into a better position. “that covers me… black as the pit from pole to pole.”

His eyes closed as he turned over, dragging his arm, dislocated, as he’s learning, to a more manageable position.

“I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul.”

As he lay staring at the dark ceiling, his body flat on the floor but in a better position than earlier, his eyes adjusted to his surroundings.

He was in isolation. He would be alone the next couple of days. The doc might come in to see him, but he would spend hours in this windowless cage.

He would have a cot, at least. A soft surface.

Jughead tilted his head and saw the cot lying at the far end of the room. He needed to get to it. Little by little, he could drag himself there.

As he pushed himself towards it, painstaking inch by painstaking inch, he recited the words Jellybean demanded him to remember.

“It matters not how strait the gate,” he began beneath his breath. “How charged with punishments the scroll.”

He paused, gasping as the wave of pain rolled over him, but it waned eventually, and he went on.

“I am the master of my fate,” he whispered. “I am the captain of my soul.”

 

Tbc


	2. The Rescue

 

 

“Blondie, when we find Jones, and he’s back on the Wyrm, I want you to think about your career,” Malachi said.

Betty’s eyebrow arched in his direction, and from the corner of her eye, she could see Shelly May rolling her eyes.

Outside the ship, the desert winds howled, slapping the brush against the sides of their transport. The convoy of alien ships had long passed their party and presumably gone back to their base, but with the strong winds and almost zero visibility, the rescue party agreed that it was better to camp out in the oasis, which seemed relatively more protected from the harsh elements.

Malachi leaned over his arm rest. “Do you really want to be working in a ship where your boyfriend works, too? Like, that shit could get stale. Whereas on _my_ ship--”

“Really?” Fangs said from the front passenger seat. “You’re trying to jones in on Jones’s girlfriend while we’re in a search and rescue mission for him?”

Ibarra laughed from the driver’s seat. “Classic Malachi.”

Malachi put his hands up. “This is a purely professional proposal.”

“Yeah, right,” Sweetpea grumbled.

Betty rolled her own eyes. She had to admit that it was a _little_ funny. This is why she appreciated Malachi. He wasn’t all doom and gloom. He was generally optimistic and always carrying on as if nothing were looming over their heads. Flirting was his favorite past time.

“I’m not flying with the Ghoulies, Malachi,” she said, lazily. “No offense, Shelly May.”

“None taken.”

“I’ll pay you better,” Malachi said. “That much is true. And I know Jones probably tries to make up for it in _other ways--”_

Sweetpea and Fangs groaned loudly, pleading for him to _stop_ before he _embarrassed_ himself.

Betty just shook her head in disapproval. “Malachi, there is absolutely nothing in this universe you can offer me that will make me abandon the Wyrm.”

“I’m just saying!”

The comm gave an insistent beep and Ibarra told all of them to shut up, pulling up the comm screen for everyone to see.

Jellybean’s face came into view. At the corner of the screen, they could see the other occupants of the second transport.

“Hey guys,” Jellybean said. She was looking a little pixelated and Betty could only figure that the sand storm was messing with their signal, but even through the poor resolution, Betty could make out a glint in Jellybean’s eyes, something simmering just beneath the surface.

“What’s up, JB?” Betty asked.

“Drone reports have come back,” she said. “Those ships came from a mining facility. Heavy duty mining going on. I managed to get some names off the guards and they’re all mercenaries. No apparent government ties. From the looks of the workers, they’ve got slaves in there”

Betty exchanged looks with Malachi, who nodded in silent affirmation. The mercenaries were expected and the slaves were an unfortunate inevitability.  

Jellybean continued. “Had the drones tour the place and found admin central. I’ve got files on the staff and the militia. They don’t keep files of their slaves.”

Of course they didn’t. They counted slaves in bodies. They watched slaves work. If the number of slaves added up to the expected output, all was well. If the numbers were skewed, they’d do some “troubleshooting”, which meant they had to find the weakest link and “fix” the problem by getting rid of him and getting more slaves.

“The doctor’s files, however…” Jellybean’s face disappeared and she pulled up four files.

Betty’s heart rate increased at the familiar names in each file: Private Harvey Kinkle, Private Midge Klump, Lieutenant Patton Howitzer, and Jughead. Just Jughead.

Private Midge Klump and Lt. Patton Howitzer were marked DECEASED.  Private Kinkle and Jughead recently came in for treatment for various minor injuries.

Betty tried not to cry out. It made all the sense. He didn’t have his dogtags. He, out of all of them, would’ve had to tell them his name, and he would’ve offered nothing but Jughead.

He was alive.

“He’s alive,” FP said from the screen, his voice conveying wonder and hope. “Atta boy!”

Sweetpea whooped. “Yeah! Let’s go! Let’s get ‘im back!”

The other ESDC vets took up his battlecry and even FP was grinning broadly, eager to go.

Betty wanted nothing more than to rush headlong through the desert and storm that facility, searching madly for Jughead and taking him out of there, but _someone_ had to do the thinking and more often than not, that was her.

“We need a plan,” she said, firmly.  “We need to find out how to get in there and how to get out, not just from that place, but from the planet.”

Sweetpea banged a fist on his arm rest. “Get in, get out. That’s the plan.”

“Shut up, lunkhead,” Jellybean said. “You go in there without a plan and that operation will have ten new slaves to add to their roster by tomorrow.”

Sweetpea frowned and was about to say more when Betty spoke up. “I want nothing more than to go in there and get him out, Sweetpea, but there are ten other people I have to think of, too. I didn’t drag you all out here to get you trapped with slavers. We need to think this through.”

“We can always just hurl Sweetpea over the walls and see where that gets him,” Toni said, smirking. “Ought to be interesting.”

The cowboys laughed while Sweetpea scowled.

Betty took advantage of the lull in the tension to give some instruction. “Jellybean, see if you can get a layout of the facility. Any visuals we can get. I know you’ve only got two drones in there, but if you can plant a trojan horse in their systems, you can free up both drones for recognisance.”

“You got it, boss!”

“Patch the staff and militia files through to our tablets. I want everyone to look at these files, see if anyone recognizes anybody or anything. While we wait for the drone intel, we’re going to absorb as much information as we can.”

Their tablets flared to life with notifications and Betty hunkered down over hers, opening the files. She already knew she wasn’t going to recognize anyone, but there was other information in there that she may find relevant or useful.

Everyone else began looking through their tablets. Even Sweetpea had his head bent over his screen.

Betty found that she had to quiet the excited buzz in her chest.

Soon.  

_Just hold on, baby. We’re coming for you._

 

_***********************_

 

“What did I tell you about keeping a low profile?” Dr. Masters said, wrapping Jughead’s ankle tight in tape.

Jughead bit his lip, feeling the pinch of his bruises throughout his body. He kept his head still. Moving it made him dizzy. “Pai was a friend.”

Dr. Masters sighed. “Pai’s not long for this place. His body is failing.”

“I guess even keeping a low profile will kill you eventually.”

The doctor said nothing. His hand shook visibly but Jughead didn’t point it out.

Dr. Masters took something from his bag and slipped it surreptitiously under Jughead’s mattress. “You never know when a rescue or opportunity will present itself. That’s why you keep a low profile. Keep up your strength, Jones. Eat. Sleep.”

Jughead scoffed. Eat and sleep, indeed.

Dr. Masters leaned a bit closer. “Sleep when you can.”

“They ain’t letting me sleep.”

The doctor’s gaze held steady, if a bit bloodshot. That happened when one was between doses of oxy. Jughead knew the doctor had his own demons to contend with. Nobody with a proper doctor’s degree came to work in this shithole if they had a better choice.

“You need it,” Dr. Masters said.

Jughead made a sound, halfway between a chuckle and a snort. Sleep deprivation torture was a tried and true practice in isolation. The guards would make him suffer it for a couple of days, just to drive in the fact that isolation was _not_ a mini retreat. They’d give him slop for food and if he dared ask for water, he’d get hosed down painfully. He would have to be content with the small glass of water he’d get every six hours or suffer the brutal torrent.

His shoulder was set next, and Jughead couldn’t even explain the amount of pain that caused, not just on his body, but in his skull. He had to vomit in a bag several times because his head was spinning.

When his arm was finally set in a sling, the doctor shined a light in his eyes. “You’re concussed. I can probably get the guards to lay off you, especially since we’re probably going to lose Pai before the morning comes.”

Jughead hissed a curse.

“I can buy you a couple of days rest, maybe.” The doctor’s tone was laced with discontent. Two days was not enough, but it would have to do.

It was nothing Jughead didn’t already expect. Keeping a low profile around here meant the lessons of the first week, the milder beatings and mental abuse, had stuck. All the slaves went through it. All the slaves had to endure it.

His ill-placed question that first day about drinking water for workers had resulted in a watery beatdown. His body ached for days after. The guards had been wary of him since. The slightest deviation from the lines and Jughead felt the butt of someone’s gun.

He was always exhausted, both from the effort of working and being invisible. He never realized just how much attention he got by existing until he was forcibly brought to this hellscape, where he stood side by side with other bodies that have shrivelled to skin and bones, where captives were smaller in stature, where people kept their eyes down.

He never realized how starkly tall he was, how his relatively healthy body stood out amidst the sea of withered muscles, how his eyes apparently pierced through armor—until the guards kept seeing _him._

Harvey got it, too, but to a lesser degree, because Jughead was taller, more defiant, more senior. Even without his dog tags, the guards could tell that Harvey looked to him for guidance.

And sleep—when he _could_ sleep, was riddled with images of how Midge was killed and how Patton died slowly. Patton’s dying screams haunted his thoughts. The suddenness of Midge’s _end_ punctuated his nightmares.

He had stared both in the eyes so that in their dying seconds, they wouldn’t feel alone, but that gesture had cost him.

Holding Midge’s hand through the railings and staring into her eyes as a sea of bodies crushed her from the other side kept him awake at night.

Watching Patton’s organs failing one at a time and listening to the man tell him, “Tell my kids I love them. Tell them I never forgot them,” as he gasped in agony made Jughead’s eyes water and his gut cinch tight.

Sleep was like a ton of bricks, falling on him and knocking him out the moment he hit his cot, but it never lasted. No matter how tired he was, he would wake up to the dying screams of either Patton or Midge.

Even Button’s attempt on his life wasn’t giving him these many nightmares. Jughead barely thought about Ben trying to shoot him in the back of the head. Perhaps what was worse was when Jughead snatched that rock from the ground and smashed it against the side of his head, how he had to explain to the rest that it was Ben who had tried to kill him. He could’ve died on their suspicious looks alone, but then they had gotten ambushed, caught off guard by their murder mystery drama.

Ben was now but a speck in his consciousness. The trauma of him replaced by dozens of others.

Still, Jughead thought about it on occasion, how the slavers had come to their oasis like they knew Jughead and his crew were there and then took photos of Ben’s obviously dead body. It has since occurred to him that Ben might have planted those bombs in the ship and that maybe, just maybe, Jughead was never meant to come back from this mission alive.

“Drink this,” Dr. Masters said, bringing his thoughts back to the present. “Painkiller. Ought to help you in the next few hours. Take another couple when the pain starts to get unbearable again.” He eyed the mattress, where he had slipped something earlier.

Jughead nodded. “Thanks, doc. Any word on what they found out in the desert?”

“Looters, I’m told. Some drone exploded an old grenade beside a crashed ship.”

A momentary flicker lit his dulled consciousness. There were probably other crashed ships around the vicinity, but it was reasonable to assume the doctor was talking about _his_ crashed ship.

Then the flicker was gone. There was really nothing much to that news.

Jughead was resigned to his fate for now. He could hope some other day.

The doctor left, and true to his word, Dr. Masters did manage to get the guards to leave him alone for the night.

When Jughead’s pain returned, he carefully fished out the doctor’s package from under his mattress. There were two pills and a sandwich. Jughead took one pill and ate half of the sandwich.

The next day, after a night of restless sleep, he ate the second half and took the other pill.

His head felt better throughout the day, but hoping to stave off the guards’ attention, he stayed bedridden, pretending to suffer more than he actually was. It probably worked, because they left him alone for a second night.

The next morning, they hosed him and beat him anew.

 

**********************

 

Betty tapped her foot impatiently.

This was already taking longer than she thought it would, but they _had_ to go by what the doctor said, or else this whole operation could be blown.

She had taken a chance with him. She had seen Doctor Masters’s profile and had a drone tail the man for a few hours. He looked like he cared. He sounded like he would defy guards to help his patients.

Contacting him first, by chat, had been a careful conversation, but his responses slowly made her realize that he would help them.

She eventually spoke to him by comm, and when finally she asked him about Jughead, the doctor confirmed that he was alive, that he was in the facility, and that he could help them get Jughead out.

“We’ll need a few things from you. Do you think you can get them for us?” Betty had asked.

Dr. Masters’s brows knit, hesitating in his reply. “What do you need?”

“We’ll need any restraints your guards use on slaves,” she continued before he could hesitate any further. “You may need to get them in advanced. If they’re digital in any way, my colleague needs to hack them ahead of time.  And if the guards have any form of uniform at all, you may need to provide us with some of them…”

Though Dr. Masters at first appeared uncomfortable by the added responsibility and risk to himself, he looked directly in his screen when he said, “I’ll do it. I’ll get you those cuffs. The guards don’t have uniforms, but they have electronic badges. If your guy can hack those, too, I’ll get you some of those badges, as well.”

Their “guy” could. This far out in the galaxy, Jellybean didn’t have to deal with overly complicated systems for hacking. The two drones that were frolicking in mining facility already gave her the advantage of hardware-to-hardware data transferring. There were many systems that Jellybean could hack from that alone. Save for a few critical hacks, Jellybean could do much of the work ahead of time.

The plan was to insert themselves as slaves and guards, mixing in with the populace while they worked to get Jughead out. It would buy them good time, but Betty knew that at some point, they would get recognized as frauds. They had to work fast undercover.

The doctor was quick to negotiate his price, however. “In exchange, you must take a few others out of this hellhole. If they stay here, they will die.

Betty hadn’t expected any other rescues, but if it meant they would get the doctor’s help, she would do what had to be done. She agreed, and the doctor told her there would be 5 others that he expects would leave with them.  “Teenagers, Ms. Cooper. Young kids.”

Betty had to maintain her composure; the rage she felt at these slave traders was so great. “We’ll take care of them, Dr. Masters. Won’t you come with us?”

“I’m not trapped,” said the doctor, his gaze unwavering. “Not in a physical cage, anyway. I can leave whenever I want, but I imprisoned myself in my bad choices. Still am… I have no future outside of these illegal operations, but at least while I’m here, I’m a doctor and I’m helping heal people--at least for as long as someone might come along to save them.”

She accepted his decision then, understanding that the fight Dr. Masters had was with himself.

She knew Dr. Masters had a history of opioid abuse and there was little reason to think he had stopped. He seemed to be a functioning addict, but he had no future in reputable institutions. His family had already left him, and back on Earth, his last few years had consisted of healing the wicked--mobsters, gangsters, and ne’er-do-wells. His entanglement with a particularly big drug cartel that had gotten razed by the GBI with high-profile arrests and even threats to his life was what drove him to these mines. He wasn’t going anywhere.

With the doctor’s help secured, he introduced them to their other insider, Harvey Kinkle.

He was young—fresh out of training camp, almost. He did look a bit worn down. That was inevitable when one worked the mines. His hair, like most of the slaves in the facility, was cropped short, and he had bags under his eyes. His cheeks seemed slightly hollowed from poor nutrition, but his eyes remained bright and his smile came easily. If anything,  his spirits seem to be in good shape.

Through the doctor’s comm, she was able to get Harvey in on the plan. He could guide them through the encampment, help them keep a low profile, and because he had been keeping confidence with Jughead, he knew the kinks in the security from what Jughead had told him.

“The Captain keeps his eyes open for that sort of thing,” Harvey said, eagerly.

Betty’s heart could barely take it—the thought that Jughead was constantly thinking of ways to get out.

“Do you know where he is now?” she asked. She couldn’t resist.

Harvey’s face had changed its pallor, nodding somberly. “I do. They have him in isolation. He—I got him in trouble. I—he’s not in good shape right now. I don’t know if I could...”

A stone dropped in the pit of her stomach, but more important than the dread blooming from her chest was this connection they had with Harvey. She was losing him and she couldn’t afford that.

“Harvey,” she said in a desperate tone. “It’s okay. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s strong. Just—just stick to the plan, okay? That’s what we need from you now. That’s what the Captain needs, and then we’ll get you out of there, too. Got that?”

The color returned to Harvey’s face. “I got it. Come soon.”

Their insiders were a boon. They had a plan, but the doctor said they had to _wait_ , because two things were going to happen towards the end of the week.

“Delivery days are coming up,” the doctor said. “New supplies, slaves, and guards would be coming in.  It will be easier to come into the facility then. Your new faces wouldn’t arouse as much suspicion. Also, most of the convoys get sent out during those days, which means the crafts and ships won’t be here and many of the mercenaries will actually be off-base. It would lessen your risks considerably.”

As much as she, and probably everyone else, would like to burst through those massive doors and get on with the mission, she knew the harder part of the mission was _getting out._

They had to wait. Even if she couldn’t bear the thought that Jughead was in there, thinking he was alone--she had to lead with her head. She had to be rational. If they went in there now, it was likely that none of them would make it out alive.

Now she knew what Sweetpea felt like, wanting to storm in but being held back by reason.

It took another couple of days, so when the doctor told them “ _Now’s the time!”_ they didn’t waste it.

 

**************

 

There was an influx of smaller crafts coming in and out of the gates. Delivery day was busy--a constant ebb and flow.

As Betty and her team waited amidst the cover of natural rocky landscapes and remnants of abandoned encampments, she observed the compound up close from beyond its stone and steel walls. It looked like a mountain, immovable and looming. It wasn’t the kind of structure that anyone could just ram a ship into. It was a solid fortress that protected its army from straight-up ground attacks. It had protection from aerial attacks and invasions as well.  Atop the high tower buildings crafted from Kestra Prime soil was a forcefield, protecting the entire structure in an impenetrable bubble that radiated from its central high tower. The tower itself was made of Jakarthian steel—the strongest in the galaxy. Only a nuclear explosion can move it, which meant it had to be destroyed digitally.

She knew the mines sat beyond the buildings and inside the gates. Further into the structure, the mining pits started, protected on its other side by the mountain face it was carving into.  There were tunneling mines, too, with people, explosives, and machines boring holes into the rock and earth. Betty could only imagine the horrible conditions.

Jellybean reported that mining never stopped. Slaves worked in shifts through hours and hours of manual labor.

If Betty had the means or the time, she would break every single slave out and bomb the facility to dust. Perhaps then she could gain a bit of satisfaction from knowing that the evildoers who were making Jughead suffer would perish in a nuclear attack, but then even now, in her desire for vengeance, she knew that this facility was but one of thousands in this planet.  There were more throughout Kestra Prime. It felt futile to go on that crusade.

“Betty,” Udo said, nudging her foot as he looked through the scope of his gun.  “Incoming craft.”

She peeped over the twisted metal shell of a destroyed fighter ship and looked at the path leading to the gates. A craft was passing through, and it was as good a chance as any to begin their gambit.  

She nodded. “Engage.”

Udo took a deep, steadying breath and squeezed his trigger. The dart shot out and attached itself to the side of the passing craft, camouflaged beside the ship’s thrusters and small enough to escape notice for a few minutes.

The craft sailed through the gates without incident, but once it passed its mark, Betty pressed firmly on the detonator in her pocket.

The explosion was enormously distracting. Fire and smoke rose up, creating thick black clouds that floated up and sank low. The compound gates remained open in the chaos, and they were wide enough that Udo was able to load a second charge and shoot it through the wide opening. The payload embedded itself in what they could only assume was a checkpoint.

Betty exploded that as well.

Now the encampment was in a frenzied uproar. Armed guards were spilling out of the gates and the craft itself.

Soon, the prisoners were squeezing through the exits and entryways, running out into the desert.

What their plan was to survive, Betty didn’t know, but she wasn’t here to rescue them all, at least not at the moment.

Udo shot a final charge onto the path leading to the gates. Betty detonated it, adding volume to the already thick and heavy smoke.

It was in this chaos and the cover of sooty air that Betty and the rest of the team slyly snuck through the gates. They had to be quick, because shots were already being fired in the direction of the fleeing slaves.

Betty felt naked without a rifle, even if she had concealed weapons on her.

She was the half of the team dressed to look like a slave. Some of them were dressed like guards--the men, since it appeared that none of the guards were women--were already armed with their rifles. They carried the extra rifles the rest of the team members would need. They blended in well enough, especially in the chaos, but they all still kept a low profile. They weren’t getting their guard badges until they got to rendezvous point so if they got called out now, they wouldn’t stand up to questioning.

All members of the team, slave or guard, had concealed weapons on them, more particularly the explosives, which they would be planting in strategic areas.

Mayhem was the goal. They needed an even bigger distraction than what was already at the gates to draw as much personnel away from Jughead, away from sick bay, and away from their escape path.

Those disguised as slaves looked appropriately raggedy, but they couldn’t completely disguise their health. They couldn’t shuffle along miserably with the tide of slow bodies. They had to move fast when they could and their rapid movements were bound to get someone’s attention if everyone else weren’t rushing in panic.

They also didn’t have a lot of time between the their first round of bombs and before the entire cavalry returned. No doubt, the word had gone out to the convoys: the camp was under attack. Betty estimated that it would take about 45 minutes before the full force of mercenaries descended upon them, at which point their chances at escape and survival would dramatically drop.

“Plant your bombs,” Betty whispered into her earpiece for everyone to hear. “You have five minutes. I need everyone’s confirmation before I start setting them off. When the bombs start going off, head towards rendezvous point at the medical facility. The doc and Harvey will meet us there.”

She heard the steady streams of “Roger that,” through her earpiece and she set to work on her own task.

Over the last few days, they had studied layouts of the facility through their drones and the Wyrm’s telescope mapping. They had a visual in their heads, so they more or less could find their way to the rendezvous point.

Harvey Kinkle would still be valuable in leading them to Jughead, however, and once Jellybean’s drive could be plugged into the mainframe, Jellybean could bring the forcefield down.

Sabrina had volunteered to take care of plugging the drive. It would be her special mission in the rescue. Her immediate task was to gain access into engineering, and already she said she was on her way. She had, for this mission, dyed her hair dark and made herself look like a man. She was dressed as a technician and was hoping that her somewhat mild demeanor could keep her beneath the radar of notice.

For Betty, racing through the camp amidst the pandemonium felt like no time at all, and when all the bombs were situated, the explosions began to go off, adding to the base’s confusion. There would be a bit of fire for most of the bombs and definitely a lot of smoke. She didn’t want to kill any slaves. The payload would be the bombs planted among the gestalt. Power cells generated big bangs and furious fires. She would detonate those last.

Betty watched as guards and staff swarmed towards the smaller explosions. She could hear overhead announcements and heavy footsteps everywhere. She moved quickly, heading for the storage rooms where their cuffs and badges were packed in boxes and made to look like regular medical deliveries.

Some of the others team members were already there, and within minutes, they all, except Sabrina, were present, caught in a flurry of synchronizing their cuffs and badges with Jellybean’s hacks.

The doors to the storage room yawned open and Betty was startled out of her focus, flustered by the unfamiliarity of the new arrivals.

“Betty Cooper?” cried the one in medical robes, hands up in the air. Every single gun was pointed in his direction. “It’s me! Dr. Masters!”

She recognized him, then, realizing instantly that the man behind him was Private Harvey Kinkle.

Betty nodded and gestured for everyone to stand down.

“Are the patients ready for transport?” she asked, meaning the other rescues the doctor had bargained for.

Dr. Masters nodded. “They are. You are to head to the roof of the administrative building. That is the highest point in this facility where your ships can pick you up. You don’t have a lot of time before they deploy ships of their own to engage you. Most of them aren’t here but they still have some left for emergency situations. Make it so that your ship picks up and goes. No waiting.”

Betty nodded and looked at everyone in the room, exchanging nods with them. “The Medevac team will leave through the roof, but we’ll be relying on a different outlet for Jughead and his rescue team. We have a plan for that, Dr. Masters. Fangs?”

Fangs hoisted his weapons, dressed as he was as an armed guard. “I’m ready. Ibarra, Toni, and Shelly Mae, your cuffs secured?”

They nodded, holding up the restraints wrapped around their wrists. The braces blinked.

Betty spoke into her radio. “JB, you’ve got remote access to the cuffs?”

“Affirmative, boss lady. You’re all ready to go and I’m on standby for any system hacking you may need.”

Betty exchanged looks with Fangs and his team, who nodded to indicate he heard Jellybean over his earpiece. He jerked his head towards the doors. “Team Medevac, with me!”

His team followed, with Udo taking the role of second guard. The doctor fell in step with him to lead the way through the facility.

Betty had the remaining team with FP, Malachi, and Sweetpea.

Betty picked up an extra rifle and gave it to Sweetpea. “This will be your weapon, Private Kinkle. Sweetpea will hold it for you while we make our way. I assume you know how to use this.”

Harvey nodded, his expression grim, but his stature tall with purpose. “The Captain’s in detainment. I can lead us to the facility, but we have to find him. I don’t know what cell he’s in at the moment. Doc said they moved him since his first couple of nights. There will probably be guards.”

“That’s for sure,” Betty said, fitting Harvey with an earpiece of his own. “Ready?”

Everyone’s grip visibly tightened on their weapons and the collective nod was enough for Harvey to get in step behind Sweetpea. With the cuffs secured around Harvey’s and Betty’s wrists, the private instructed Sweetpea on where to go. Betty followed right behind him and FP and Malachi took the rear as the other armed guards.

They would be able to get around the base more easily if they looked like slaves being escorted by guards, so she and Harvey wore the restraints. Though the restraints were unlocked, it did mean they would need a few extra seconds to get out of them so they can provide backup in case things got hairy, so they kept a very low profile.

They managed to stay under cover of chaos, avoiding notice as Harvey led them through less trafficked walkways and the fringes of open spaces.

When they finally arrived at the facility doors, the guards that were situated there looked tense and ready to spring into action. It was quieter there but they no doubt heard the explosions.

Betty nodded at Sweetpea and FP. They were ready. They came up to the guards who watched their approach.

“Checking in?” asked one guard.

Sweetpea nodded, pulling Harvey roughly forward. Harvey held out his cuffed wrists and the guard at the door scanned it with a device.

The guard checked the readings and moved on to Betty.

Betty did not like the way one of the guards looked at her.

“She looks new,” said the one whose sticky eyes continued to stare at Betty with pointed interest.

“Yep,” Sweetpea replied with practiced ease. “And, uh, I got dibs on this one, so wait your fucking turn.” He shook Betty by the arm and Betty could only look at her feet.

She knew Sweetpea was buying them time and privacy, but it nonetheless felt dehumanizing. She could only imagine the horror that women prisoners had to endure.

The guards scoffed.

“Let me know when you’re done. I don’t mind having your sloppy seconds.” He waved them through, chuckling.

FP said nothing, but the tightening of his jaw said everything about what he wanted to do with the guard.

As they walked through, they passed a few more guards, who all seemed preoccupied with the events outside.

FP met eyes with Betty then and she nodded, signaling that they needed to detonate their biggest explosion.

The explosion was so loud that it vibrated throughout the facility, startling the guards who were hanging out in the detainment facility.

The most senior among them grimly began ordering other guards to see what was going on.

“You,” said the senior to Sweetpea. “Put away your prisoners and report back here immediately.”

“Yes, sir!” Sweetpea said. “Let’s go, workers! Move it!”

Betty could see Sweetpea falling into this role quite perfectly.

They moved past the distracted guards, several more passing them as they went deeper into the facility and the guards gravitated _out._

When they reached the cell blocks, the halls were practically guard free. Betty was astounded at how innocuous it all looked. Like hallways for cheap hotel rooms with bad, overhead lighting and bland looking doors along both walls.

“Welcome to isolation,” Harvey said, grimly.  “The slave barracks are way over the other side of this entire facility.”

Betty eyed the layout as she undid her cuffs and took her rifle from Sweetpea. There were three rows of cells. It seemed logical for them to split up evenly enough and take a row each. “Harvey, you’re with me. The rest of you split up for the other rows. Jellybean, get ready to hack through the cell doors.”

“Ready for you,” came Jellybean’s voice through their earpieces. “Do you know your escape route? I estimate you’ll be found out in a few minutes. Are you sure about initiating lockdown?”

Betty met eyes with the rest of the team who affirmed that they were sticking to the plan. “We don’t have much of a choice. This facility will be surrounded by guards the moment we start getting the hostiles. At least with a lockdown, we only have to deal with the guards in the facility and not more.”

Malachi nodded. “I counted fifteen. Can you confirm their heat signatures, JB?”

“That’s affirmative. So long as those guards aren’t hiding in the cell blocks, we’ve got an accurate count.”

They were as prepared as can be.

Betty looked at her teammates. “Ready?”

There were firm nods all around.

Betty steadied her beating heart. This had to work.

FP took Malachi for the second row while Sweetpea went for the third.

As she and Harvey hurried down the hallway with their rifles, Betty noticed that there were no windows they could look through to check into the cells.

“You take right, I take left,” Betty said, digging into her pants pocket to give Harvey his own decoding device. “You know what this is?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Betty cocked a smile. “Good. If it doesn’t work, ask JB to hack into the door real time for you.”

They split up, working through the doors and checking inside. The cells were mostly empty and dark, and Betty was praying that if Jughead wasn’t here, that the others would find him.

There was a commotion down the hallway, and Betty had a feeling that things were about to get busy.  They were losing time.

“Keep looking. I’ll take care of this,” Harvey said, opening one of the cell doors and stepping behind its opening for some cover. He had his rifle ready to shoot.

She said a silent prayer of thanks to the universe that soldiers were incredibly battle ready.  

Betty entered another cell just as shouts and gunfire rang through the hallways.  The darkness inside was no different from the others, but the air inside this cell hung heavy. Whereas the others were cold and metallic, _this_ had a distinct human scent in the stillness of the air.

Her heart thudded in her chest, unsure if it was her body responding to the gunshots or her anxiety getting the better of her. She cried out Jughead’s name.

A groan rose out from somewhere in the ground and a foot, encased in a worn out boot, fell into the sliver of light.

“Jughead?” She dove to the floor to get a closer look. She couldn’t tell. It was so dark, and she could hardly hear anything through the shots that were ringing out in the hallway.

She bent over the shifting body, felt arms through a tank top and perhaps a familiar cut of jaw. His hair was shorn almost bald, though a shadow darkened his face. His beaten eyes blinked open and she saw those familiar cerulean blues, beautiful amidst the pain. It was him.

“Jughead!” she cried, stifling a sob as she checked his body. There was blood, and even in the dark she could make out the bruises, the ruined bandages around his ankle, and the dirtied sling that held his right arm. She bit her lip to keep from crying out again. He was hurt all over. She scooped her arm beneath his head to elevate him slightly and he let out a grunt of effort.

“B-Betty?” he moaned, reaching up to touch her face. “This is a dream. I must be…” He smiled slowly.

She managed a small laugh through her watery eyes. “No, baby, it’s me. I’m here.” She took his hand and squeezed it. She pressed his palm to her cheek so that he could feel her skin.

His brows began to knot. “J-Jesus Christ, it’s really you.” The smile crumpled to nothing and his eyes began to water. “What are you--oh, baby, no… did they catch you?”

She cupped his jaw, smoothing her thumb over his bruised cheek to wipe away stray tears. She wished she could spent a bit of time being happy he was alive, but they needed to get out of there, fast.  “They didn’t. We’re going to get you out of here, alright?”

He said nothing, and the look of confusion in his eyes broke her heart.

“Jughead, you’re getting out. Do you understand?”

He blinked, like his thoughts were coming slow. “O-okay.” He bobbed his head slightly. “H-how?”

“You let me worry about that.” She hooked his good arm over her shoulders and tried to pull him to his feet, but he was much too heavy. “Juggie, you need to help me. I can’t lift you all by myself.”  

He nodded and began to push himself off the ground. Betty heaved him to his feet, but his head hung low between his shoulders and he was wobbly on his feet. His movements were sluggish and his gaze was unfocused. His groan of pain went straight to her heart.

The steady beat of gunfire outside made Betty hoist here rifle higher.  

Pressing a finger to her earpiece, she spoke. “I’ve got him, JB. I’ve got Jughead! FP--”

“We’re coming to get you, kid! Stay where you are!” FP said over the line.

“The shield’s down and Sabrina’s on her way there,” JB cried with urgency. “Malachi’s ship is onboarding the other rescues. Your team needs to head to the extraction point right _now._ Joaquin and I are ready.”

“Roger that, JB. We’re coming,” Betty said, dragging Jughead with her.  He pushed forward and they inched closer to the door.

Betty was just about to peek around the corner when a massive body collided with her and she stumbled back. Jughead dropped like a stone on the floor and he hissed in pain.

It was a guard and he wasn’t going to hesitate killing them. The guard raised his rifle and Betty swung hers, hitting the side of his rifle and sending it veering off target. His weapon flew out of his hands and slid across the floor. Betty swung again, hitting the butt of her gun right beneath his jaw. He stumbled back and Betty raised her rifle to shoot, but he was strong and he recovered quickly enough to send a fist flying against her own gun. _Her_ rifle veered off target, and as it did, he charged at her, his shoulder digging into her middle and knocking her breathless. Her vision blurred and then she couldn’t breath through her nose or mouth.

She could hear Jughead’s voice, distant, but clear. She was being strangled and she couldn’t push her attacker away. She scrabbled for the knife sheathed at the small of her back. She was already seeing stars and she feared she was done for, but she felt the knife hilt fit into her grip. With what strength she had left, she swung and thrust the blade beneath his armpit, right where his kevlar ended.

The guard screamed, his grip falling away. She crumpled to the ground, choking and taking wheezing, painful breaths as she tried desperately to recover. The guard was stumbling, and the knife got him bad, but he wasn’t dead yet, and Betty turned over from her vantage point on the floor to raise her rifle.

She aimed and pulled the trigger, hitting the guard’s knee. The blood curdling scream he let out hit her with horror. That she could inflict so much pain on a human being was more visceral than ending someone’s life in defense of her own. His leg buckled, dropping to the floor on his knees. Her aim was completely off, but she was still struggling to get air into her lungs and she could barely hold her rifle steady.

He was done for. She knew that with certainty, but with him looming above her, it was easy to imagine that he could still do her harm.  

The sound of gunfire filled the room again and blood splattered everywhere, some getting on her chest.

The guard fell face down to the floor, blood seeping from his head.  

Betty was still recovering, and as she gasped for breath, she pushed herself up, seeing Jughead with the guard’s rifle. Jughead’s harsh breathing signified the effort it took for him to crawl to the guard’s weapon across the room.  “B-Betty!” he rasped. “God, Betts, are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” she cried back in a hoarse voice. She was stabilizing, so she went to him, regaining some of her strength. “I’m good. Let’s try this again.”

Once more, they pushed off the floor, and getting a firm grip on him, she led them through the doors.

“Betts, I’m sorry,” Jughead said in a somewhat slurred voice. “I couldn’t protect you…”

 _God,_ she thought, her heart wrenching. He’s hurt, possibly with some kind of a head injury, his body was ravaged and his mind was likely caught in some cyclical delirium, and yet even in his state, he worried about her.

She needed to get him out of here.

She shushed him gently amidst the violence and chaos. “Don’t apologize. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Juggie.”

He quieted, nodding, and his forehead fell against hers. She managed a tiny smile before tightening her arm around his waist and moving him forward.

As they stumbled out in the hallway, guards strewn all over the floor, she spotted Harvey slumped against the wall, grunting as he pressed a hand to his side. Blood was oozing out from between his fingers.

“Oh, my God, Harvey!” Betty cried, suddenly at a loss.

“I’m okay,” he moaned from the floor, pushing himself up with the wall for support. “It grazed me--the bullet.”

“It grazed you pretty deep, Harvey. You’re _not_ okay!” Betty cried.

Jughead peered at Harvey through his half-shut eyes. “That doesn’t look too good, buddy.”

Harvey managed to snort. “Yeah, well, you look like shit, Captain.”

Their banter gave her a sliver of relief and she held out her arm for Harvey to clasp. She felt responsible for them all and she didn’t want anyone to die.

FP appeared at the end of the hallway with Malachi behind him to keep constant watch. She could see the barely contained smile on FP’s face as he laid eyes on his son. Never mind if Jughead’s face was beaten and bruised. FP was just happy to see him alive.   

“Hiya, kid,” FP said, his voice suspiciously choked.  

Jughead smirked. “H-Hey, dad…” His eyes traveled to Malachi. “The fuck’s he doing here?”

“You’re fucking welcome,” Malachi shot back. “Your girl asked me to be here, you know. We’ve been having a grand ol’ time.”

Betty rolled her eyes. “Can one of you please take Harvey?”

“I got him,” Malachi said, sliding his rifle aside to accommodate for Harvey leaning against him.  

Sweetpea appeared, grinning like he just came back from a wild party. “Captain! Woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, did ya?”

Jughead still managed to flash his middle finger.

Sweetpea laughed and carefully took Jughead from Betty. “I got you, big guy.”

FP urged them forward with a jerk of his head. “We all need to get out of here _now._ There’s a squadron of guards waiting for us outside and Sabrina’s upside. She’s ready for us. _”_

Betty made sure Jughead was secure in Sweetpea’s arms before nodding at everybody. “Let’s go.” She raised her rifle as she moved forward, FP right behind her. She pushed forward carefully, making sure there were no surprises around the corner, and as they moved, she contacted Sabrina and Joaquin.

They passed the bodies of dead guards as they went. The front and back entrances would have a cavalry of guards waiting to pick them off all at once. Using those exits was not an option. For their escape, they needed to go _up._

There was a hatch up top, and Sabrina was up there, ready to receive them. They came upon the ladder leading up to the hatch and as they unlocked the door from inside, they were greeted by Sabrina’s smiling face.

“It’s an angel,” Harvey said, breathless.

Sabrina winked. “The baddest one you’ll ever meet.”

 

********************

 

The loud sound of jet thrusters filled the air.  The force of wind and overwhelming heat sent the guards fleeing in all directions.  

When the ship lowered and the gangplank yawned open, Betty ducked under Jughead’s other arm and surged forward towards the ship. They had a few minutes before their enemies gathered their bearings and attacked from below.

With everyone on board, the ship began to lift even before the gangplank shut closed.

“Brace for evasive maneuvers,” Joaquin said in the overhead speaker as the metal doors shut with a loud bang.

There was barely enough time to register what Joaquin meant before the ship veered and almost threw everyone sideways.

FP yelled for everyone to strap themselves into the cargo seats. There was a scramble to sit and buckle in, and Betty worked fast so she could help Jughead who was in too much pain to move quick.

As she pulled his belts tight in her hurry, he hissed in pain.

“I’m sorry!” she cried, locking his buckles just in time for the ship’s sideways roll.

He cocked a weak smile. “Don’t be, princess.”

She missed him calling her that. She missed _him._ She laughed softly through the tears that were suddenly filling her eyes and running down her cheeks. “Best make sure those belts are tight. I _really_ don’t want to lose you this time.”

The ship veered and he groaned, his eyes rolling closed, and seeing that the jolting of the ship was distressing him, Betty wrapped him in her arms, pulling him close so that his head can lean into the crook of her neck and shoulder. She could feel his breath against her skin and she closed her eyes, just now believing that they had him back. After weeks and weeks of worry and despair, he was here with her now, alive, safe.

“I ain’t going anywhere,” he whispered against her neck.

She sniffed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “That’s right. You’re staying right here with us.”

 

**********************

 

Considering their party only took off with a handful of slaves and the mining camp was in a complete state of upheaval, the mercenary ships abandoned pursuit soon enough and left them alone.

Whether they can hide from the wrath of mercenaries and slave traders for very long wasn’t an immediate concern. If anything, Jellybean had made sure that their ship IDs remained undecipherable and unhackable, and should the mining operation take the time to investigate, they were in for a nearly impossible task.

The Whyte Wyrm and the House of the Dead were safe for now and they just had to remain vigilant the next couple of weeks for any inquiries about them.

As soon as they jumped into hyperspace and settled into the quieter parts of the 4th quadrant, Malachi’s medic, Simon, boarded the Wyrm and attended to the injured.

Harvey’s gunshot graze needed immediate care, requiring laser treatment, stitching, and proper dressing, but he was fortunate that the gunman’s aim was off by an inch, or else Harvey would most certainly be dead.

“The Kinkles are notoriously stubborn,” Harvey said from his bunk bed. “We’ll live forever if you tell us something could kill us.”

Betty liked his somewhat positive attitude and his generally optimistic outlook.

Sabrina volunteered to act as nurse, and Betty could only suppose that the barely concealed grin on Harvey’s lips signified that he had absolutely no objection to this arrangement.

Jughead was attended to, next. Aside from his bodily bruises, his dislocated shoulder, and his broken ankle, it was the concussion the doctor said he needed to care for the most. The concussion explained his lack of balance and the incessant pain that had him moaning at loud sounds and bright lights.

“Let’s make him comfortable, then we must let him rest,” Simon said to Betty.

So Betty helped Jughead get cleaned up, and his lack of resistance to her help indicated that he was in really bad shape. And when he was clean and dressed in fresh clothing, the doctor wrapped his ankle in a proper cast, tied him a new sling, and had Betty prop him up on pillows.

He was given a pain killer, which eased his body into a state of calm.

Betty, Jellybean, FP, and even Hotdog were crowded in Jughead’s cabin, with FP quietly offering whatever help he can and Jellybean telling her brother the humongous amount of work it took to find him.

Jughead smiled through the tale, blinking sleepily as Hotdog slipped his head beneath Jughead’s hand and whined quietly at his side.

Betty doubted Jughead understood anything Jellybean said, but Betty welcomed the young woman’s easy chatter and Hotdog’s gentle love, because it helped relax Jughead. He didn’t have to say anything back.

When Jughead’s eyes drifted closed, Jellybean looked up at Betty and said, “I’m really glad he’s back.”

“So am I.”

FP said he was going to attend to all their guests. There was a bit of work to be done, still, figuring out the logistics of their rescues and having a debrief for the rescuers, which meant alcohol may be consumed by the cowboys on the premises.

“Do you want me out there for you, FP?” Betty asked, worried that the temptation may be too much for him.

“Stay here with Jug,” FP said. “I’ve got Toni there to keep me honest, and my sponsor’s been pretty vigilant these last few weeks, too. Besides, Jug’s back and… I think I’ll be alright now.”

Betty squeezed his arm. “I am so proud of you, FP.” She meant it. He hadn’t touched a drop while Jughead was declared MIA, and she knew what kept him sober had been the belief that they were getting Jughead back, and that Jughead would be monstrously disappointed in him if he fell off the wagon.

She didn’t want to think about the state of FP’s sobriety if things hadn’t turned out so well. Hopefully, they would never have to find out.

He cocked a smile. “Thanks, kid. You all helped.” He tapped her shoulder gently and turned to leave. Betty could have sworn that his eyes were glassy.

Jellybean and Hotdog stayed a while longer, but when Jellybean’s yawns came one after another, Betty told her to get some rest.

“How about you?” Jellybean asked.

Betty didn’t feel quite as tired as she thought she would be. Perhaps she needed time alone with Jughead, even if he was asleep, to settle her nerves.

Jellybean and Hotdog quietly padded out of the cabin and Betty settled at the edge of Jughead’s bed.

Carefully, she took his hand in both of hers and in the silence of the room, she burst into quiet tears.

 

*****************

 

Betty fell asleep next to him, but a couple of hours in her slumber, she woke to Jughead’s restless sleep.

He was moving about in bed, sweating profusely from what Betty could only guess was a nightmare and possibly some pain.

She sat up, groggily, and figured he might need to take some medication. She woke him gently, trying to soothe him from his nightmares.

Then things took a turn for the worst.

 

**************

 

He was in pain. His body felt broken and a hammer was pounding into his head, but he had to stay strong. He had to make it through the night. If they wanted to beat him some more, he wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

_No more._

He grabbed the wrist of the hand that was shaking him, digging his fingers into tender flesh and wrenching it roughly. He dragged his attacker beneath him as he flipped the guard over onto his bunk. Jughead’s breathing was ragged with rage.

The scream that pierced his ears cut through the adrenaline that had taken over his body. He raised a fist, intent on slamming it into the guard’s face, but then he heard it. He heard _her_ voice, laced with sobbing pleas.

“Jughead, it’s me! It’s just _me!”_

His vision cleared, his heart throbbing through his body, and when he realized that it was _Betty,_ that he he had straddled her beneath him, his iron grip on her wrist pinning her into submission, he released her with sudden ferocity, scrambling off her and pedaling away from her to the farthest corner of his bed.

“J-Jesus,” he gasped, wide-eyed and shocked at what he could’ve done, at the violence he might have inflicted on her. He folded into himself, pulling his knees up to his chest and locking his fisted hand into himself.   _“Fuck._ Jesus Christ. Betty. Oh, my God.”

“J-Jug!” she gasped, quickly recovering and sitting up. Tears were streaming down her face, but against reason, she approached him.

 _“Don’t!”_ he cried, putting his hand out. “I almost--”

“You didn’t! Juggie, you heard me. You stopped. Please--”

He saw the agony in her gaze, recognized the way her body sought to comfort him, and he felt weak of will.  His hand dropped and the fist he had raised to her came down on his head with a thump.

“Stop, Juggie!” she cried as he curled tighter into himself, helpless as her body covered his. Her hand held his wrist to stop him from hitting himself.

He wanted to grab a fist full of his hair, but his hair had been buzzed almost down to his scalp, and he splayed his fingers over his head instead. He was dissolving, sinking into a pit of self loathing.   

“I would _never_ hit you,” Jughead gasped. “You have to believe me, Betty.”

“I know that,” she whispered in his ear. “I know. It was a nightmare. It was just a nightmare.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He felt her warmth and he let it soothe him, loosening the tension from his shoulders and the trembling of his limbs.

“You’re safe,” she crooned. “You’re on the Wyrm. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.”

He needed for her to go on. To tell him everything was going to be alright, because he needed her voice to drown out the one in his head that was telling him that he could have hurt her. Badly. He could have had her blood on his knuckles and God knew if he would’ve stopped.

 _“Fuck…”_ he whispered, bowing his head. He couldn’t look her in the eyes and he tried to pull away from her touch.

“Jughead,” she said, more firmly. She held him tight. “Jughead look at me.”

He did, though warily. He didn’t trust himself. Not like he used to.

“You’ve been through a lot,” she murmured. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“But I could’ve hurt you, Betts. I could’ve.”

“You didn’t. You’re good, Juggie. You’re good.” She took his hand and laced their fingers together. “See? Please, Juggie, just lie down. You need to rest. You need to recover.”

Her voice was thick with concern, but also love and forgiveness. He didn’t have the strength to tell her he was a danger to her, because whatever this was that compelled him to attack her, he was fairly certain it hadn’t been chased away just yet, but her pleading eyes defeated him.

Slowly, he let himself touch her, sliding his fingers up her arm and feeling the softness of her skin. He didn’t want to close his eyes, afraid that he would fall into that nightmare again.  

Softly, she told him to lie back down, and when he was sure that he had complete control of his faculties, he unfurled and let his head lie back on the pillow. The pads of his fingers glided over her shoulders and up the column of her neck.

When he saw the bruises at the base of her throat, he felt his gut tighten painfully at the memory of the guard strangling her, and how helpless he had felt. That he managed at all to crawl to the discarded weapon on the floor and aim the rifle true was a miracle in itself.

“I couldn’t stop him,” he choked, his hand falling away. “I couldn’t stop him, Betty.”

“Don’t think about that,” she whispered.

The warmth of her touch, pressing the pain from his brows, soothed that ache between his eyes. Quietly, she encouraged him to take the pain medication, bringing some water to his lips to help him wash the pill down.

When the cool water spread through his body, he felt a little better, and she settled beside him. He wanted to tell her that she should leave after he fell asleep. He was afraid that it would happen again, and the next time he might not be so alert, but he was exhausted on all fronts, weak in all the ways he could imagine. He wanted--needed to fall asleep looking into her beautiful green eyes.

“You kept me going, Betts,” he whispered as his limbs grew heavier.  “I didn’t want to die in that pit.”

“I didn’t believe them when they said you were dead.” She laced her fingers through his again.  “I refused. I was going to find you no matter what, Juggie.” Her body inched closer.

He was fast slipping into slumber. “I love you, Betty. I love you so much…”

“I love you, too. Go to sleep.”

He wanted to, but there was one thing he needed more than sleep. “I missed you, Betts. I missed holding you...”

Like she knew what he needed, she pressed her lips to his and he closed his eyes, reveling in the intimacy he had craved during his hardest nights.

His tongue hungrily sought hers and his good hand came up to tangle his fingers in her hair. The velvety feel of her tongue against his was a balm to his troubled mind. He needed this physical connection, this proof that he was _finally_ in a safe place, where someone else’s touch meant love and not violence. He needed his mind to catch up with where he was— _with_ her.

The smell of her shampoo and her skin filled his senses, and he thought he could do this. He believed he could see this through, but against his will, against the desire he knew smoldered in the pit of his stomach, his body had no strength to resist and he succumbed to the heavy sleep of medication.

 

Tbc


	3. The Trauma

 

 

He slept better with the light on.

That, she learned early on.

When the heavy duty pain medication was replaced by over-the-counter ibuprofen, she felt his panic in the dark.

Instead of his body relaxing at lights out, his shoulders would harden, and eventually his breathing would pick up the pace. He would shut his eyes tight, but his sleep wouldn’t come.

He said nothing as all this was happening, and Betty bit her lip when her compulsion to ask if he was okay was overcome by the realization that Jughead wasn’t going to talk to her about it.

There were a million reasons she could think of for his refusal to speak of his time at the camp, but only he could tell her exactly what they were, and in the same way Jughead never probed her for details about her attack in Peitho, she didn’t want to force him to tell her what they did to him in Kestra Prime.

He would tell her eventually when he was ready. She hoped so. She did, eventually, tell him her story, and it helped, telling him everything, but it took her a while to be brave enough to do it.

One thing she did remember about his rescue was the darkness of those cells. The pitchblack. How the deepness of it settled like a heavy shroud and never lifted.

So as he tossed and turned in bed, already sweating from the ordeal, she sat up, turned on his bedside lamp, and began to read.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t voice her concern for him, but she did, casually and lovingly, smooth her hand over the slope of his head.

She missed his beautiful hair. Missed the feel of it between her fingers, and she couldn’t wait for it to grow out, but the closeness of her skin to his thoughts, it felt like a real thing. It felt like a new conduit of connection.

With the light on and the gentle rhythm of her touch, he turned over on the bed, wrapped his arm around her waist and settled. Finally. And minutes later, he was dozing, deeply.

 

***********

 

Jughead’s head ceased to ache, eventually. He couldn’t tell for sure how many days had gone by, but he was certain it was more than three, and while his body was still healing from bruises and breaks, it wasn’t a debilitating pain anymore.

He could get up from bed without his head spinning and his skull pounding, and his shoulder felt fine. And while he didn’t exactly feel renewed, it felt like emerging from a watery tunnel to breathe fresh air. He also felt very exhausted in spite of being in bed most of the time.

Perhaps his entire body had been working to get better, to heal him so he could function.  

As he pushed himself into a sitting position in bed, he paused briefly to measure the silence. It wasn’t ringing in his ears. It wasn’t actually going to start filling with screams.

_They’re just nightmares, Jones._

The problem, of course, was that he wasn’t sure whether he was asleep or awake when he had them.

He was alone in his room, probably not for the first time, and he looked at his bedside clock. 6:24 AM, Earth EST.

As tired as he was, he felt well enough that he thought he might venture out by himself.

While his ankle was in a cast, he needed a crutch, but there wasn’t a lot of other pain to hamper him. He would be able to move about by himself without assistance.

He tested his shoulder and decided he could do without the sling. There was still some tenderness, so he probably won’t be lifting anything in the next few days, but he didn’t think he needed to keep it immobile anymore.

The last few days had been a bit of a blur. He remembered many things, but there were details that eluded him. He remembered getting rescued, coming home, and being bedridden because he could manage nothing else without pain lancing through his skull. He couldn’t tell hours from minutes and faces came and went into his room for short, or maybe extended periods. It was difficult to say, since he could barely talk to anyone without passing out from pain or vertigo.

The nightmares persisted, but after that first night, where he _almost_ hurt Betty, he’d managed to convince his body to stay put. To not lash out. He _hoped_ that was the last time. If he hurt Betty in any way, he didn’t know if he could live with himself.

Betty was his angel.

Even in the haze of recovery, he looked at her and his heart ached with love. Her very presence soothed him. Her existence healed him. Her voice made him close his eyes so he could appreciate the notes like music.

At night he would look into her eyes and she would run the pad of her finger gently along his brow. The warmth and pressure would make him sigh with relief and it would lull him to sleep better than any sleep medication could.

He had missed her so badly. He still couldn’t believe he was home with her. He had to tell himself that he was every time he woke. And when she smiled at him, he could barely form the words.

He felt lucky. Unworthy.

His pain left him boneless, but it was also that his mind still needed convincing he was back with her, that he was home.

When he had no words, he could only pull her closer. He kissed her, yes. On the lips, along her neck, the back of her hand, her palms, but his traitorous head sent his vision tumbling, his skull screaming. That he could be up and about now without that veil of pain was a wonder and relief.

He was half-aware that there were more people on the ship—his old crew, and Harvey. He could only suppose they were too far out in the 4th Quadrant to go back out to their individual ships via their smaller crafts. The Wyrm needed to get them closer to civilization before they could set off. In the meantime, they were on the Wyrm, probably livening it up.

Maybe he could interact today.

Carefully, he dressed into comfortable clothing. Cargos, a henley, and a fresh pair of boots. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, then he looked at himself in the mirror. He was definitely thinner. He could feel it in his clothes and he could see it in the jut of his cheekbones. It didn’t help that most of his hair had been buzzed off.

 _God,_ he thought. _Betty loved my hair_.

A pang of discomfort went through him, but it was gone in the next moment, remembering how Betty gently and lovingly ran her hand over the short hairs on his head, kissing the top of it before she wrapped herself around him.

He didn’t deserve her.

“Hair grows back,” he muttered at his reflection.

He turned to leave his cabin, but then he saw it—his dog tags with the homing ring. He thought he’d lost both.

The chain was new. That he could tell, but they were his original tags. There was no doubt of that.

He stood over them and found that his eyes were stinging and that he had to choke back a sob. He remembered the moment he realized that the tags and the ring were gone. The hopelessness had been crushing. It was only then, at the loss of them, he realized how significantly connected to Betty he felt having them with him, with that ring touching his tags and resting over his heart; he felt torn from her when he realized they were gone.

Now here they were, real and within reach, and he was crumbling. She found them. She brought them back. He was overcome and he couldn’t reign his emotions in.

He swiped his hand over his eyes and breathed, desperately trying to calm himself.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he grumbled, taking the tags and ring by their chain and slinging it over his head. He tucked them back into his shirt and washed his face again. He didn’t want to go out there looking like a complete mess.

As he emerged from his room, he noted the stillness of the ship. It was early. People would still be asleep. As he passed the common room, he noted that the large couch had occupants--two sleeping bodies wrapped in thick blankets. The snoring alternated. He could only guess that this was Sweetpea and Fangs. Those two were never far from one another.

As Jughead passed the galley, he could hear someone in the kitchen—two people, actually. His father, likely, was putting breakfast together. The other voice was male. Joaquin? Harvey?

Betty would have to be in the engine room.

He limped on. When he got to the end of the ship, he lifted the lever to the engine room doors.

Slowly, he pushed it open, and when he looked inside, he enjoyed the sight of Betty with her huge head gear with the magnifying glasses, her body clad in her tiny t-shirt and cargos. She was hunkered over the ship’s engine, tinkling with the gears as she balanced a notebook full of computations on her lap.

He hair was in pigtails, showing the soft slope of her nape.

He could feel his body responding to her. He probably shouldn’t be this turned on, but that tightening in his pants was unmistakable, almost like his body knew what it missed the most even before his mind could process it.

The hinges to the door groaned and she looked over her shoulder. She smiled when she saw him, pushing off her head gear and setting her notebook aside. “Hey, handsome. Feeling better?”

_Definitely._

“Head doesn’t hurt,” he replied, making his way in. “Shoulder’s good.”

She descended the engine platform and met him at her workstation, pulling up a chair for him between the tables.

He looked at the chair with distaste, feeling uncomfortable about taking the only seat in the room.

She shot him a gently scolding look as she tapped the chair’s backrest. “Sit. Be comfortable. Your head may feel better but you’re still in recovery.”

He couldn’t exactly argue when he was gimping along slowly, feeling exhaustion defeat him.

“Fine. Is that coffee?” He eyed the pot sitting on her work table as he settled on the chair, setting his crutch aside.

She smiled, apologetically. “Yes, baby, but you can’t have any.”

He supposed he could appreciate how she gentled that bad news with an endearment. “Why not?”

“It’s bad for your concussion. I can fix you a cup of decaffeinated  tea, though.”

“Just shoot me. Shoot me now.”

“Don’t be cranky. It’s for your own good. Zesty Lemon Pomegranate or Pepper Up Peppermint?”

He sighed. “Those aren’t even real teas.”

She ignored his grumblings. “I think lemon pomegranate is better for you.”

He was immediately sorry for being a grouch. She really didn’t have to put up with his bad attitude.

He watched her assemble his tea, noting every movement of her limbs and every swish of her hair. He fixed his gaze on her ass and found that he missed staring at her breasts, too.

He was so engrossed by her body that he barely realized that she had caught him ogling.

“My eyes are up here, pilot.”

He looked up at her teasing grin, his mug of tea in her hand. He felt his face go warm, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to be sorry. Lusting after her felt normal. It felt safe. “God, I missed you.”

She came closer, then she swung her leg over his lap, straddling him on his chair.

He had no objections to this development. He smiled and let his hands smooth over the skin of her waist and then up along her spine, seeking the skin beneath the fabric of her shirt.

She wiggled her hips slightly, and his dick reacted. She giggled and he rolled his eyes. “What did you expect was going to happen?”

She gave him his tea and shrugged. “Just a temperature check, baby. It _does_ seem like you’re feeling better.”

Gamely, he took the mug. “My nurse has an instinct for me.”

He took a careful slurp of his tea and noted how it wasn’t bad. It was like drinking warm juice without the overwhelming sickly sweetness. “This is good. Thank you.”

Her tilted smile made him weak. She ran her fingers over his chest then lightly over the chain of his tags. She said nothing about it, even as she played with the chain and wrapped it around her finger.

He could tell there were words poised on her lips, but she didn’t come out and say them. Instead she said, “I am so glad you’re back, Juggie.”

“Thanks to you.”

She shook her head. “It was a team effort. I just found the path, but everyone did their part. Even your mom.”

That was completely unexpected.

“We needed signal boosts for JB’s hacks,” she continued. “She used her access to network TV satellites to help us out.”

He couldn’t wrap his head around his mother risking her job for him. She never seemed to give a shit about him before. Then again, he hadn’t exactly reached out to her whenever he was in the vicinity of Earth. Jellybean seemed chummy enough with their mother to mention that Gladys said “Hi!” in his direction every once in a while, but he just assumed that was perfunctory, probably even untrue.

He and Jellybean never talked about Gladys extensively, perhaps because Jellybean knew he and Gladys had nothing except a tragic history of abandonment.

“Didn’t know she cared,” he muttered. “I hope she wasn’t too inconvenienced.”

The look Betty tossed him was one of understanding. “She has her moments. You can sort all that out with her if you like. She’s only a comm away, but maybe when you’re more recovered. I plan to keep stressors away from you the next couple of weeks.”

He doubted she could, but he’d let her try. “Are you still talking to her?” It sounded like it.

She nodded. “She’s still helping. I’m still looking for answers.”

“What other answers are you looking for?”

Her eyes took on a different sheen, sparking with purpose. “I need to find out who sent you out there to die.”

So she figured as much, too. He should have known that they—whoever they were—wouldn’t be able to get that past her. “That first time I went to the base, back on Earth, my commanding officer, Major Weatherbee, warned me that I was making people nervous.”

“Nervous?”

He nodded. “I got called to base because they received images I sent a few months back--pictures I took of what I thought was stolen weapons tech. Major Weatherbee said that my report magically resurfaced from the archives because I was sticking my nose in things I should be leaving alone.”

He could tell she was thinking. He could practically hear the gears turning in her head. “What things?”

“He didn’t say, exactly, but he talked about how Galactic armament was big business and that I was getting in the way of people who wanted that money.”

Her eyebrow arched, surprise evident in her expression. This was news to her, but he could tell she was making connections by the way her eyes were laser focused on him. “And then on Kestra Prime...”

“On Kestra Prime, I had to crash land my ship.” The memory made him roll his shoulder back. That landing had hurt him, too, and his shoulder had bothered him throughout their entire trek in the desert and eventually to the mining facility. “I thought we’d gotten hit from the outside. I didn’t realize something had exploded from the inside until I had time to sit and remember how the ship didn’t look damaged from the outside at all.”

She nodded. “The explosion was from the inside. It was a plant, Juggie.”

He wasn’t at all surprised. “I suspected it, but I couldn’t be sure if I was remembering wrong or what, then Private Ben Button tried to kill me. He tried to sneak up on me and shoot me in the back of the head, but--you know, years of bounty hunting, you get an instinct for people who sneak up on you.”

Her fingers ceased playing with the chain. Her eyebrows crinkled and her hands cupped his face. “Is that when he got your dog tags?”

He looked into her eyes as he remembered.

Jughead had reacted explosively before Private Button even realized he’d been caught, and as Jughead took him down, knocking the gun from Ben’s hand, he brought the fight to the ground.

His shoulder injury hampered his ability to overcome Ben, and in the haphazard scuffle, Ben managed to get on top of him. Ben had his hand to Jughead’s throat and the gun in his other hand when Jughead’s survival instinct took over. He grabbed the hardest thing he could reach and smashed it against Ben’s head as strong as he could.

He could still hear the crack of Ben’s skull, felt the stone sink into Ben’s head. The spray of blood against Jughead’s face had been warm, and he remembered emitting a yell of horror. Ben fell limp on the ground, and Jughead had scrambled to grab the gun, aiming it at Ben’s unmoving body.

That was how Harvey, Midge, and Patton had found him, back empty handed from their quest to find edible meat. He could see the look on their faces--horror, disbelief, _accusation._

He had killed one of them. Brained someone with a stone--Ben’s blood was all over his hands and face. It made his grip on the gun slick and messy. And the way they looked at him--he couldn’t put the gun down. He aimed it at them, afraid that if he lowered his weapon now, they would shoot _him._

 _“He tried to kill me,”_ Jughead had said, switching the direction of his gun between Ben and the others. _“Private Harvey, check if he’s alive.”_

At first Harvey stood frozen in place, but Jughead, being the highest ranked among them, had managed to summon his authority. _“That’s an order, Private.”_

Harvey had carefully bent over Ben’s body, checking for a pulse. “I think he’s dead, Captain.”

Jughead couldn’t muster an ounce of regret, and perhaps that bothered him the most.  

Their looks of suspicion only made it worse. At that point, he wasn’t sure whether things were going to spin out of control or whether reason would save him, but amidst the high-tension standoff, the mining convoy descended on them and violently took them into captivity.

“Juggie!”

He blinked, her voice taking him out of his flashback. He looked up at her, realizing he’d been out of it the last few seconds and that she was looking at him worriedly.

He felt his hand shake and a shadow of a headache coalescing behind his eyes. The hot tea began to slosh dangerously towards the lip of his mug. Taking a deep breath, he set the mug down on the nearby work table and tried to refocus his thoughts.  

Her question came to the forefront of his mind in spite of the dull pain in his head, and to spare her of messy details, he replied. “Um, the tags… yeah, Ben could’ve gotten them then. I thought I lost the tags when the slave collectors captured us. I barely noticed they were gone until later, at the mining facility. They were getting our names and they couldn’t find a tag on me. Where did you find the tags? Were they with him?”

She nodded, but she offered no details.    

_She knows I killed him._

She fidgeted on his lap and he realized the fingers of his hand were beginning to dig into her hips. He quickly loosened them and considered muttering an apology, but if he pretended he hadn’t noticed, maybe it, whatever this was, would go away.

“Jug, are you okay?” she asked, softly.

“Yes. I’m okay.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, nudging the top of his head gently against her shoulder. “I’m more than okay.”

The warmth of her palm spread from his nape to the rest of him. He sighed, letting her presence calm his thoughts.

Her lips pressed against the soft skin behind his ear. “There are a lot of people on this ship now, but everyone’s been good about leaving you alone and letting you recover. I can hold them off for a bit longer if you prefer.”

He shook his head. He wanted the chance to talk to everyone. He wanted to thank them for what they did for him. It was the right thing to do. “I don’t mind seeing them. I guess I’ve been in and out of it for…?”

“Five days.”

“Wow.”

She nodded. “Simon, the doctor from Malachi’s ship--you remember?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“He’s still on the ship. He asked Malachi if he could stick around here for a while, in case you or Harvey needed him. I guess you really worried him. They’ll pick him back up in a couple of days.”

He supposed he shouldn’t be too annoyed that Malachi’s name had been mentioned twice in the last couple of seconds. By her. He didn’t want to seem too jealous, because he would be mortified if Malachi found out he was getting affected by how friendly he and Betty were being. “I have to thank Malachi, don’t I?”

“Um hmm.”

“You know, he only helped you because he likes you.”

Her eyes rolled, and he supposed he should be grateful she didn’t just shake him to his senses. “Stop being jealous. It doesn’t suit you.”

He felt the heat rise from the base of his neck to the rest of his face. “I’m not.” He said it so softly that he probably sounded as unconvincing as he thought.

Her skeptical expression told him he hadn’t fooled her in the least. “Your dad called in the favor. He was the one who brought Malachi to the hospital back in Peitho, remember? Malachi pays his debts.”

That made sense, and Jughead accepted that. But he was willing to bet that Malachi tried to get charming with Betty, and even if he was sure Betty shut all of his attempts down, it still irritated Jughead that Malachi got close enough to try.  

Still, he understood what Malachi did for him. Any one of Malachi’s crew could’ve gotten hurt or killed. That counted for something. “I’ll thank him for what he did," he muttered. “And I’ll totally mean it. He came through when you needed him.”

She nodded. “He did. And he’s actually really nice, Juggie. He and Shelly May helped to get your buddies to follow my lead.  Without them, your friends wouldn’t have listened to a single thing I asked them to do.”

Jughead stifled a scoff. _Nice._ It was probably for the best not to ask for details, instead, he focused on what really mattered. “You’re my hero, Cooper.”

Her eyes softened. “Jug… I love you. There wasn’t even a question. I was going to find you and bring you home.”

It was difficult to express just how in love with her he was right now. He pulled her closer for a kiss, slow, languid, and gaining heat.

In Kestra Prime, when he felt lonely and hopeless, he had dreamed of her kisses, of her smiles and caresses. Being able to kiss and touch her now grounded him to this reality of being home, safe and loved.

His finger skimmed along the side of her neck to cup her face, losing himself to the deepening intensity of their kiss--the way her mouth moved against his and how her tongue would sweep in for a taste of him.

His heart was a drumbeat, and he thought perhaps his body would hold up this time. He pushed his hips up against her, seeking that pressure and friction he craved.

She pulled away. “Juggie, I want to, but--”

“Good, because I _really_ want to,” he murmured, sucking gently on the skin of her throat.

“You’re still recovering from your concussion.” There was that obligatory protest that she would, of course, offer.

“I swear I’m better,” he said, catching the lobe of her ear between his teeth. “I barely have any pain at all.”

She chuckled and pulled away to look at him. “Barely?”

“Hardly even notice it.” He slipped his hand beneath her shirt and felt her breast fill his palm.

She tilted a smile, perhaps to cast him a scolding look, but her eyelashes fluttered ever so gently at the massage of his hand.

“Jug, you’ve had a brain injury. You need to take this seriously.”

He could feel her breathing hitch to an uneven cadence under his touch. His own breathing had grown heavy in response.

“I am so serious, babe.” He kissed the underside of her chin and thrust his hips. He was hard and he wanted to be inside her. “We’ll do it slowly.” His thumb pushed back the lace of her bra to circle her nipple and she gave a small gasp.

It was a sound he only now realized he missed.

“How about _I_ do it slowly?” She suggested breathily, leaving his lap and out of his reach. He made a soft sound of complaint but she shushed him as she stood, undoing the buttons of her pants and letting them drop to the floor.

Her stared up the length of her beautiful legs as she stepped out of the pool of cargos and kicked it to the side.

In her tiny t-shirt, lacy panties, and pigtails, she looked like every adolescent’s fantasy. When she peeled off her shirt, his cock twitched so hard it pinched in his pants.

He groaned and watched her move towards him, her slinky stride captivating him. He could think of absolutely nothing else but her.

She knelt in front of him and undid the buttons of his pants. As much as the idea of her mouth taking in his dick excited him, he wanted to be inside _her._ He missed the embrace of her body. He missed hearing her come.

“Baby, please,” he said. “I want all of you. I missed all of you.”

For a second, the haze of desire darkening her eyes softened with adoration, then she was pulling his pants and boxers down to his ankles, running her grip up and down his hard length.

He couldn’t complain, tilting his head back and groaning as she took him in her mouth. Her tongue and lips were silken against the sensitive skin of his cock, and he couldn’t help it when his hand cupped the back of her neck as she sucked him.

In the back of his mind, he knew that if he blew his load now, it would be hours before he could recover, but just when he thought he would be unable to hold back, she pulled away, sighing regretfully.

He groaned. “Baby…” he didn’t know what he wanted at this point. She was in complete control.

“Just a taste,” she said, licking her lips. She moved up, sliding her panties off as she slowly straddled him on his lap.

He gripped her thighs desperately, and she moved her hips closer, but she didn’t take him in. He felt her warm wetness against his dick, a slow slide that had him panting.

It felt incredible and he needed more. He tried to adjust his hips but she gave a shush, pressing her hand against his chest to settle him.

“Slowly, remember?”

He hissed, dragging down her bra so that he can suck on her breast and circle her nipple with his tongue.

She gave a lovely moan, and emboldened, he slipped his fingers between them, sliding it into her pussy.

“O-oh, Jug.” Her hips moved to meet him, the sounds she was making music to his ears.

His lips sought hers. He wanted to hear her come. He wanted to swallow her cries. When he circled his thumb around her clit, she came apart for him, her whines of completion muffled by his mouth.

He worked her through to this first climax, and when she was done, he told her he lived for her. He lived for _that._

She whimpered softly, and she gently moved his hand to her ass as she slowly slid him into her.

Feeling her around him, warm, soft, and slick, was like reveling in pure pleasure. He leaned back on his seat, moaning her name and watching her face. The way she closed her eyes and threw back her head made him so, so happy to be back.

“God,” she cried, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. “I missed you, Juggie. I missed this. Baby—“

He thrust into her and her hips rocked to meet him. They moved vigorously for a few seconds, and for the briefest moment, he began to feel an ache behind his head, but she began to slow down, and he steadied his breathing. The ached waned almost immediately, and then the gentle push and pull of their hips went into a pleasurable, languid cadence.

Thoughts formed in his head, a gentle ebb and flow. “I dreamed of you,” he murmured as they moved together. “Like this.”

He reached behind her and undid her bra. The garment fell away and for the next few seconds, all he did was preoccupy himself with her beautiful breasts. His mouth, his tongue, and his hands appreciating the slopes and points.

Her hum of pleasure heightened his desire. “Oh, Juggie, there were nights… so many nights…”

“Did you touch yourself?”

She nodded and bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby. I want you to be happy, always. It kept me going. I love you.”

Their lips came together, sucking on one another’s breaths.

The thought of contraception flitted across his mind, and he must have muttered “condom” because she whispered she was on the pill now.

They were going slow until then, but what she said fired his desire. To feel her this way, with absolutely nothing between them, pushed his self-control to nothing. He thrust into her with renewed vigour and the friction brought them both hurtling to the edge.

Betty cried that she was coming just as he reached his climax. They came together with desperate abandon, bringing each other to completion with their names on each other’s lips.

 

********************

 

It was sheer luck that no one had walked into that engine room while they were in the midst of their x-rated reunion.

And afterwards, Betty didn’t quite feel like removing herself from him in a hurry. She stayed wrapped around him, her arms over his shoulders and her forehead resting against his. They breathed each other’s air and savored the press of each other’s skin.

She recognized now that she should have been the more responsible one between them, but first of all, she wanted him desperately, and secondly, she had managed to convince herself that if she did all the work, he would be fine.

Of course, knowing Jughead, he still found _some_ way to be an active participant. Nothing short of tying him full bodied to the chair would have held him immobile, but he seemed quite relaxed in his post-coital state.

His fingers traced the slope of her shoulder and he kissed the tip connecting her shoulder and arm. “God, I remember this mole. I didn’t even realize how much I missed it, too, until now. I missed everything about you. Was your hair always this long?”

She felt soft and wanted, and grateful. So very grateful. “If it grew, you’d have hardly noticed it. I don’t even think it grew an inch since Earth…”

“How long was I gone?”

It broke her heart a little that he was unable to keep count. Whereas her… “Eight weeks, three days, five hours…”

She blinked back her tears. One trickled and she wiped it away furiously.

 _“Don’t,”_ he crooned, softly. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Stop. None of it was your fault. I was just—I refused to think you were dead, but that meant you were alive _somewhere_ and probably in a great deal of pain. I had hoped that you’d been taken in by some kindly hermit who helped you bide your time and, and—“

“Taught me how to be a Jedi?”

She laughed, pinching his ribs gently. He seemed okay _now._ This was the most normal he’d been since his return, and it felt nice, to actually have him back, but interspersed with her optimism was the scientist in her, the one who measured reality by numbers and observations.

The way he dreamed—asleep _and_ awake—she knew his injuries weren’t just on his body.

She wasn’t an expert. She had some experience with trauma herself, but unlike her, he suffered for days—even weeks.  She could only suppose that left a deeper wound.

They finally got cleaned up and dressed, and when they were presentable, she brought them to the galley, where more than a few of them were gathered.

Fangs and Joaquin were still asleep, but the rest were there, helping make breakfast or just sitting around passing the time.

Jughead was greeted cheerfully, given a seat at the table right next to Harvey, and was subject to many gestures of affection.

Simon, the doctor, gave him a quick examination, noting that all seemed well with his shoulder, ankle, and head injuries. “You’re doing quite well. I’d say you’re good, but take a couple more days rest. Absolutely no heavy lifting the next couple of weeks and try to stay off your ankle as much as possible.”

Jellybean immediately insulted him. “So now he’s just regular dumb instead of concussion dumb.”

Jughead threw a napkin at her.

Toni, who was helping FP heap food onto plates, took a plate from the side that had _none_ of the greasy things that was currently on the grill.

Betty stifled a laugh as Jughead looked at his plate of fruits, nuts, egg whites, steamed vegetables, and what looked like a chicken parmesan.

He looked at Harvey’s plate in contrast, stacked with pancakes, bacon, fried eggs, sausages, syrup, and butter. “I think I got your breakfast by mistake, Private.”

“Uh-uh, Cap,” Harvey replied, grinning. “Pretty sure that plate is yours. It’s what you’ve been eating the last five days.”

Jughead looked at Toni in disbelief and she nodded in confirmation.

Betty chuckled, but it was moments like these that she realized how out of it he had been. It was true what Harvey said. This was the food he’d been eating the last few days--the Concussion Diet, as Jellybean had called it. To drink, he had been given nothing but water and calming tea. That he didn’t remember any of it gave her a pang of worry, but Simon said that was normal, that it would all come back to him eventually.

Sabrina slid a mug of tea towards him. “Have some, Jones. My special brew.”

“I’ve already had tea.”

“Have some, anyway. I promise you, you’ll feel resurrected.”

Jughead rolled his eyes but tilted a smile as he took the cup and sipped some of it. He made a face even as he told her, in a strangled tone. “Thank you, Sabrina. This is good.”

Sabrina laughed. “Don’t be such a baby!”

Betty leaned over the counter on her elbows, watching quietly as Sweetpea traded jokes with him and got his hand slapped by Harvey as he tried to steal a sausage. There were a couple of moments when she saw him staring at nothing, like he was somewhere else, but he recovered with no one noticing.

Her heart ached for him and she worried at what the coming weeks would be like for him.

She checked her watch. She had to get ready for her work at the satellite office. She was still trying to find answers, and going to the facility gave her access to a lot of confidential information about the ESDC that her father still considered her undeserving to know. In spite of coming back to his company, she was still in the doghouse for resigning in the first place.  She would be resigning again soon, that was for sure, but for now, she was getting from it as much as she could.

Jellybean saw her checking her watch. “Going back to work, boss?”

Betty nodded. “I can only take so many PTOs before the other employees start treating me like shit.”

Jughead’s eyebrow arched questioningly. “PTO?”

“Paid time off,” she replied. “I’ve already been gone for ten working days.”

“What?” He looked mildly alarmed.

“I can explain it to him,” FP said. “Go, Betts.”

“No, hold on.” Jughead got up from his seat and pushed through the people surrounding him. Betty tried not to sigh.

FP shrugged, giving her a look that said, “I tried.”

She jerked her head to the door and told Jughead to walk with her. He did, and as soon as the galley doors closed behind them, he spoke. “Did you have to get corporate work while I was gone? Have the bounty hunting jobs been tougher to get?”

She shook her head. “That’s not it, Jug. When we lost you, the ESDC refused to give us the information we wanted--needed--to start looking for you, so I had to find another way to get that information. So I started working for my father again. Part time, but--”

_“What?”_

She knew this was how he was going to react. “It’s just temporary. He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to resign in about a couple of weeks.”

“Resign _today,”_ he said in a pointed, intense tone. ”Your dad… there’s something really off with him, Betty. I’m just—I’m not comfortable about _this_.”

She known all her life that her father was awful in subtle ways, and she now knew to what extent since she discovered how he had _weaponized_ her engine, but she’d only ever heard one other person voice that thought: Veronica.

Jughead looked so serious when he said it, like he _knew_ something.

“Tell me what you know,” she said.

She could see his jaw clenching, his silence filled with conflict. She took his hand to encourage him to go on.

“That day you were at Polly’s all day, the day she told you about Nick St. Claire, your dad asked me to meet him.”

She hadn’t expected that.

“He offered me a check for a lot of money to leave you.”

Her jaw dropped. She couldn’t form words. This was beyond anything she could have envisioned and yet it sounded like the kind of thing Hal would do. Hal had always believed in money and that it could get him anything he wanted.

“He told me you were the lifeblood of his company, that he needed you to stay on Earth and work for him. That you were _his.”_

She felt sick to her stomach.

“I didn’t take it, of course,” he continued, his tone softer. “I walked out of there mad as hell. I don’t think he’s used to anyone walking out on him, especially not when he’s waving around that much money.” He squeezed her shoulder, his worried expression creasing the skin between his brows.  “He threatened to disown you.”

“I don’t care about his money,” she blurted. She could think of nothing else to say.

“I know that.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “And I think he knew it was an empty threat, too. He said he would find my price, Betts, and there are only two things that will ever make me walk away from you—if you tell me it’s over or if I get killed.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. She wasn’t going to break up with him and her father probably knew that, too. “Do you think my father was responsible for your craft crashing in Kestra Prime?”

For a moment, he said nothing. “I have no proof, but it's crossed my mind. And now I’m scared for you, Betts. I’m worried that now he’s got you back, he might not let you go. Don’t go back in there, Betts. Please. Hail them. Write them a letter. Just please don’t go back in there. I don’t think he’ll kill you, but I don’t trust him not to hurt you.”

She felt his worry and knew that what he was asking her to do was not unreasonable.

Anger was beginning to take root, not at Jughead, but at her father. If he had _anything_ to do with Jughead’s disappearance, she needed to settle this matter with Hal. She needed to make him pay, not just because he should, but because he wasn’t going to stop otherwise. He was going to hurt everyone who had anything to do with Jughead’s rescue.

She looked back up at Jughead. “I need to go back in there. I need proof to stop him.”

He looked crestfallen. “Baby, _no…”_

“I can’t let him get away with this, Juggie. You know I can’t! If our situations were reversed, you would do exactly the same!”

He didn’t look defeated by that at all. He scowled. “Remember what I said about Polly and about you to Chic? I don’t get to play White Knight unless you tell me I can. The same applies here, Betty. I’m back. I’m home. It’s _over.”_

“It’s not!” she cried, desperately. “Daddy— _they_ don’t know you’re alive. Whoever set this up, they think you’re dead, but when they find out, it’s not just you I have to worry about, it’s everyone who survived that mission—your dad, your mom, JB, the Ghoulies, your crew— _everyone!_ Juggie, this goes further than my dad. If he ordered this kill, he couldn’t have done it without the help of someone high up in he ESDC. If Private Button was supposed to kill you, someone should have been there to pick him up and bring him back home. You said the slavers came to capture you? What if that was Private Button’s way out and you just happened to still be alive? And if a deal was struck with the slavers, then there’s a connection there with the ESDC, too. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

Jughead stared at her, wide-eyed. He may have rightfully made the connection with Hal and his assassination, but he probably hadn’t thought about the ESDC being in on it, or of the mining facility being connected to them somehow.

“Weatherbee,” Jughead said, the set in his shoulders loosening, as if he only just realized he had lost this argument. “He told me that if those above him decide I’m what’s standing between them and that planet-load of intergalactic war money, they might do something about it and he couldn’t stop it.”

Her heart clenched. “Was he threatening you?”

“He was telling me to watch my back.”

“I have to go back in there, Jug.”

“Don’t go in there alone. I’m begging you.”

She cupped his face and kissed him, gently. “I never go in there alone.”

 

********************

 

If there was a connection between Private Button and her father, Betty was going to find it, and she had a feeling that the entire web of lies would unravel from there.

Since first working there, Betty, along with Jellybean and Gladys, had found kinks and blind spots in the digital system, establishing an underground network of their own to peek in and out of data centers. They were able to establish an audio bridge, as well, making real time communication possible. Of course, every time they had to go into the Phantom Digital Highway, Betty had to provide a distraction to the server crew.

They only ever needed a few minutes distraction. Nothing extensive or even overly deceptive. Jellybean only really needed to get away with beeps in the system that wouldn’t raise eyebrows if mapped out in a large layout of patterns, but _may_ get noticed if someone was watching while it happened.

So Betty had befriended the Server Room crew since. She had become lunch pals with Krishang, Chuck, Dalarine, and Yang Shiu. She messaged them often with, “I’m ordering lunch at the nearby _All Verse._ Anyone want anything from there? They deliver.”

To say that she didn’t feel guilty about it would be disingenuous. Of course she knew she was lying to them to some extent, but when Jughead was missing, she was much more ruthless. Now that he was back, her guilt feelings came down like a brick to her head, especially when it grew harder and harder to deny by the day that Chuck _liked_ her.

“You are the _only_ reason I ever come to work these days,” Chuck would say as she brought in lunch. “No offense, Krishang.”

“You think you’re so smooth, Chuck,” Krishang would reply.

Yang Shiu’s eyes would roll so far back up her head that she was in danger of losing them completely. “He ain’t speakin’ in codes, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, everybody leave Chuck alone,” Dalarine would say in cheerfully accented voice. “Each species has their long, drawn out mating rituals that may seem bizarre and-or tedious, but it is a process that we all must respect. Biologically, it ensures that all parties are suitable for coitus.”

At this point, Betty would be choking on her drink and Jellybean would be laughing hysterically in her ear. She could only be thankful that Jughead wasn’t hearing any of this.

It was during these minutes of distraction that Jellybean, working in tandem with Gladys, dipped in and swiped the information they needed.

It was a process they’d been doing for weeks and she did it for a few days more until they got what they needed, then Betty would resign, and that would be the beginning of the end.

 

**********************

 

Sometimes it felt like he was standing by a furnace and his whole body would break out in a sweat. He’d feel a slight tightening in his chest and he would have to focus on breathing, otherwise he may pass out.

Jughead wasn’t exactly sure why it was happening, but the banging of metal doors, the clatter of bowls in a sink, or even just the sound of water streaming from the shower—he felt momentarily transported to dark places, where doors shut to keep him in and opened to usher in pain, when bowls gave sloppy nourishment or miserable morsels, where the rush of water brought unrelenting suffering.

It was usually over in seconds, but he always had to find his footing, to struggle back to normal.

His headaches had waned and his foot was on the mend. Everyday, the soreness on his shoulder passed. He walked around the ship doing everyday tasks—cleaning the crafts, helping his father cook, checking their cargo, filing past bounties, and being there for Betty, loving her, and worrying for her.

She would take care of the Wyrm, go on the bounties, and then she’d go to work at that office for her father’s company. He knew the things she did there—breaking into offices, distracting personnel while Jellybean broke into their systems, playing politics with the bosses—she looked exhausted whenever she came home, burning both ends.

She went to that office assured that her father wouldn‘t try anything, but he couldn’t sleep a wink when she was there.

He would dream his memories whenever he was awake, but his fears came for him at night, the looming shadow of danger threatening to take his loved ones away, then coming for him last.

He got some sleep, often when Betty was nestled safe in his arms, but when she wasn’t there, he’d be thrashing about in bed and suffer the sleep loss the next day. His eyes would burn and his hand would shake.

Awake, he found that emotions were magnified. His moments of melancholy reduced him to tears and his anxiety left him paralyzed. His desire for Betty raged, but his jealousy was a monster like it never was, before.

When it got too much for him, he would retreat to Betty’s loft, where the sound of the engine soothed him, or he would go to ship bay, turn up some loud music, and read. He couldn’t bear uninterrupted silences like he used to.

He thought he just needed to sweat all this out, get it out of his system, because after he shed tears, he always felt better, after he breathed, the worry would reduce. After he made love to Betty, he felt calm and content.

But the cycle would begin anew, and he had to do it again. When it wasn’t getting better, he grew afraid that he couldn’t be the person he once was, that he couldn’t drive a ship, catch a bounty, provide for a family…

As he stared at the black leather box in the palm of his hand, found in the drawer beside his bed, his eyes filled and his breath caught.

She was the only one who could have put this box away. She _knew_ he had this and that it had been meant for her.

Did she also know that he wasn’t the man he once was when he bought this ring? Has she realized that he was broken? She must, because he knew that she saw him whenever he short circuited. She’d talked him out of his nightmares many times. She’d asked him how he was and told him she was there for him, even when all he did was stay in the ship all day.

She knew he was broken because the ring was still where she put it, shoved in a drawer, gradually getting buried by papers and things.

That she never mentioned the ring made his stomach tighten.

He wished he could get down on one knee and ask her, but now he can’t bring himself to, not when he was this way. Not when he could barely get through the day without freezing or crying or trembling.

Sitting in his room at the edge of his bed, hands cupping his head, he felt aimless. Unmoored. And he had absolutely no idea what he should do.

 

***************

 

“How much longer?” Jughead asked Betty.

His tone was soft, and she was cocooned in his arms, snuggling in the sheets of his bed. In the middle of the day, on what they knew to be a weekend, it was nice to have a lie in, reveling in each other’s presence.

It should have been his moment of rest, but she felt the tension in his body.

Everyday she left for work, she could see the worry in his eyes, the clenching of his jaw, and his desire to stop her in her tracks and not let her out of the ship.

He suffered her quest for answers, only because Jellybean and Gladys were there to tell him if something went wrong. She had no doubt that if she were in any physical danger, he would take the Hitchcock and bust down the office doors to get her back.

“Soon, Jug,” she promised. “JB found an anomaly. She calls it a ghost and she thinks it may lead us to some answers.”

“Aren’t you looking for a needle in a haystack? Would there even be a needle? If your father had any dealings with Button, it wouldn’t be documented.”

She turned her body around to look at him. “Not where it could easily be found, no, but it’s in there. Camouflaged with the millions of transactions. When you become that rich, you’re better off masking transactions rather than hide them. His personal accounts are heavily monitored by mom. Mom keeps a separate accountant specifically to keep an eye on their joint account. Any shady personal transactions and mom would raise the alarm. We don’t have to look in there. Whatever dad did, it it would be in his corporate dealings—the off-Quadrant accounts, where nobody of any consequence looks.”

The tension didn’t leave his face, but he said nothing.

He hardly does anymore.

After the first week of his recovery, he talked less and less about what happened to him, about what they did to him. Even her gentle proddings, offering up her ear, and being with him, couldn’t get him to open back up.

She was able to help him sleep, and when their desires overtook them, they fulfilled each other in breathless ways, but he only ever told her how his day went, how he did things around the ship, how he practiced at the gun range, and how he was feeling better about flying ships again.

He never told her about the times his hands shook, or how he would space out in the middle of the day, or how, that one time, she found him standing under the shower of ice cold water and he hardly even realized it.

She wanted to help him, to tell him to talk to her, but she didn’t want to force him to do anything, and she was afraid that any moment now, he would tell her, “We can’t be together anymore, Betty.” Because it felt like he was pulling away and that she could only hold on for so long. If she let him go, he would run and never look back.

She’d thought about ending her quest for insurance--that leverage she could gain to ensure their future safety--and just let fate determine what may come. Perhaps she could take it up later on, so she could focus on taking care of him _now_ , but everytime she remembered what her father said to Jughead, her blood boiled and her gut twisted. Whatever it was Hal was doing, he needed to be stopped, because it would catch up on them and hurt them even worse.

They were close to finding an answer. She could feel it.

But for now, when she was with Jughead, she needed to be there for him, even if he thought he didn’t want her to be.

She cupped his face in her hands. “Jug, I love you. You know that, right? No matter what, I’m here for you.”

His brows creased and his beautiful blue eyes grew glassy, and for a moment she thought he was going to let her in, but he said nothing and just lay back on the mattress to stare up at the ceiling.

She looked at his profile, noting the familiar point of his nose and the naturally downward turn of the corners of his lips.

The buzzed hair and the slightly more defined cut of his jaw, she wasn’t too worried about. His hair will grow--has grown a bit more already--and the fat and muscle will return to his bones, but the bags under his eyes were growing darker, spreading over them like a larger shadow.

She could see the fissures beneath their feet, breaking between them. If she didn’t watch it, there would be a chasm before either of them realized it.

Lightly, she run her hand up and down his arm. She was grateful when he held her hand and squeezed it.

“Jug, I know it’s hard to—“ she bit her lip, searching for the word. She didn’t want to call it “opening up” because that would imply a vulnerability that she didn’t think Jughead was ready to embrace. “—unload, because taking the weight off your own shoulders mean you’re letting other people carry the weight with you, and I know you don’t want to seem like a burden to the people you love.”

She could see his adam’s apple bobbing, but he didn’t respond.

She considered stopping, but she couldn’t. She was too worried and he was too important to her. “I also know it’s harder for you because you never had to rely on anyone else before, but letting us help you doesn’t make you weak—“

“That’s not what keeps me up at night,” he said, his tone harsher than she’d ever heard him use on her.

She tried not to let it bother her. “Then what does? I can only guess, Jug.”

He sighed and sat up. His hand let hers go and he turned his back to her. “I’m just reacclimating, that’s all. Space messes with your head sometimes.”

She bit her lip and tried not to cry. She sat up, too, staring at the back of his head. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, but tell _someone._ You can’t keep that stuff in your head and expect that you’ll function like before. You can pretend it didn’t happen but the memories come for you when you’re asleep—“

“Don’t you think I know that?” he asked irritably.

Some of her resolve waned at the sharp annoyance in his tone. She began to reach for his shoulder. “I’m just--I worry about you--”

“I need time, Betts!” he yelled, barely looking at her over his shoulder

His voice rang out in the room and she was unsure how to go on. The last time Jughead yelled that loud, she had been reckless on the field and he was fishing a bullet from her kevlar. She had been rash and thoughtless, so he was rightfully angry at her.

He had never yelled at her for loving him. She didn’t know what to say.

She pulled back, her hand tightening into a fist. “I’m not hurrying you, Juggie. You need sleep. You need rest—both your body and mind do. You can’t keep up this state of constant nightmares—“

“And what about you? You aren’t getting much rest, either, working at the Wyrm then at your dad’s office, trying to find answers that I told you don’t matter anymore!”

“This isn’t about any of that! You need to get better—“

“So that what? You don’t have to feel guilty about leaving me?”

Her jaw dropped. “Who said anything about leaving you? Jug—“

“Or maybe you just want to fix the damaged goods?”

Her eyes filled. She wanted to scream that it wasn’t like that, but she was so weakened by the venom of his words that she could barely form her own thoughts.

He went on in the same tone. “I’m broken and messed up and I know you didn’t sign up for this, but I’m not one of your old engines that you need to fix, Betty.”

She couldn’t help the tears that were running down her face. Where had this all gone so wrong? “I _never_  thought you were broken.”

“Never? Because I’m telling you now that I am. You found the ring, didn’t you? I know you did. You hadn’t said a _thing_ about it.”

Was she supposed to? She didn’t want him to ever think she was pressuring him. He was healing, still, and really, the last thing he should be worrying about was putting a ring on her when she would love him whether or not he did.

“Jug, that’s just—it’s nothing like that. Do you—do you want to talk about it now?” she asked, desperately.

He shook his head vigorously. “Betty, how am I supposed to ask you to marry _this?”_ He pointed at himself, tears in his eyes. His ran his hand roughly over his shorn hair. “I don’t even _look_ the same! I am not the same man who left Earth and you know what? You’re probably better off without me at this point, because I’m fucked up inside.”

A sob rose in her throat. It felt like a slap to her face. And she could barely get out the words. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true! And you know what? Even the great and talented Betty Cooper can’t make this better.”

She never thought anything could hurt worse than getting beaten into submission, but this felt worse.

She told herself that it was his trauma talking, that none of this was really intended to devastate her, but it felt agonizingly personal. He may as well have picked up a tire-iron and wrecked the 4/2 engine as she watched, like he was destroying something they built together--on purpose.

She left his bed and made for the door. When he didn’t stop her, she kept walking, each step grinding further the already shattered pieces of her heart.

 

******************

 

Jughead didn’t know how long he sat on his bed, trembling. Perhaps an hour, maybe half. He could have blacked out. He didn’t know for how long, but he knew he had shocked himself into paralysis.

It was the banging on his door that snapped him out of his trance and when he opened it, he saw the angry visage of Jellybean as she stormed into his room.

“You idiot. What the fuck did you do?” she hissed. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

“Told her the truth,” was his lame reply as he collapsed back onto the edge of his bed. “She doesn’t need to throw her life away for a fucked up, violent, controlling asshole like me.”

He let his head fall between his shoulders, his fingers splayed over his head.

It felt like he was crushing his own heart, and the reality of losing Betty filled him with panic and dread.

When he said it out loud like that, it sounded simple and real. He was in danger of hurting her, always. That episode his first night back at the ship proved that. That it hadn’t happened again was nothing but luck. He’d blacked out countless times, since, his mind periodically transported back to those weeks he suffered at the mining camp. He’d been beset by uncontrollable bouts of guilt and sadness when he remembered Midge and Patton, both looking to him, as the captain, to perhaps save them, or at least keep them company in their dying seconds. He had held his tongue, bit his lip until it bled, and punched a wall because he was overwhelmed with feelings of worry and paranoid jealousy.

He had been thinking for weeks that none of this was going to end well.

Perhaps he had fulfilled his own prophecy.

He looked up at Jellybean, expecting understanding and sympathy, but her face was as outraged as ever. She stood over him without an ounce of compassion. She was pointing towards the direction of the engine room. _“That woman_ scoured the ends of the galaxy for you! She sifted through mountains of data, called in a million favors, put herself out there to investigate for you, infiltrated an enemy camp and put herself in harm’s way—you have _no idea_ the shit she had to put up with, when Sweetpea, Fangs, and Joaquin got all pissy about taking orders from her. Where do you get off telling her that she’s better off without you? You stupid asshole!”

Her words hit him like bullets. And even amidst this emotional tempest, he felt that exhaustion in his bones, like when the guards wouldn’t let him sleep. They still wouldn’t let him sleep.

“I can’t help who I am!” he yelled back. “I can’t help what I’ve become! She deserves better than this, JB! I’m a fucking wreck and I can’t—I love her too much to have her put up with _this.”_

Once again, the damn tears pooled in his eyes. He had absolutely no control over his emotions these days. He used to be stronger than this. He used to be able to protect the people he loved and he used to know what to do. Now he could hardly do anything without getting caught up in his dark recalls.

“What did I tell you before you left for that Godforsaken mission?” Jellybean asked, her tone softening the slightest bit.

He scoffed as he swiped at his face with the back of his hand.

Jellybean crouched in front of him so that her eyes were level with his. “What did I tell you?”

Swallowing his tears, he managed to get out the words. “I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.”

She nodded. “We’re all here for you. We will lift you up if we have to, but you have to help yourself first. You are wounded, Jug. In here—“ he planted a finger against his forehead. “And in here.” She pointed at his heart. “There are professionals who help those hurt, like you. They do this for a living. Betty even talks to one of them. Just man up and admit you can’t do this on your own.”

He let Jellybean’s words sink in. He’d been caught up in all his pain and nightmares. He didn’t believe he could be fixed. And because he was so deep in his self loathing, he hurt her. He did exactly what he was afraid he would do, except that now, he hadn’t been blacked out when he did it.

The words he used to lash out at her—those were _all him._ “Fuck.”

Jellybean nodded. “Yeah.”

“Where is she now?”

“Out. Following a lead I gave her, with Malachi as backup. She ain’t just sitting around crying for you, Kerouac.”

There was that jealousy again, but he managed to stamp it down with some sense. So Betty wasn’t in the engine room. Jellybean had been pointing to ship bay. She was pointing at the direction Betty left.

“What lead?” he managed to croak out.

“Someone paid off Ben Button’s family and buried the trail. She’s off to question a suspect.”

He sighed miserably. “I should be the one with her.”

“No shit. And honestly, the way you’ve been acting, she might take up Malachi’s offer to employ her on his ship, which is basically Malachi Code for I Want to Get in Her Pants.”

He shot her a glare. “JB.”

She smirked. “I’m kidding. Betty would probably break his knees if he tried anything on her, but you know, she would be well within her rights if she left your sorry ass.”

Jughead sighed, equal parts knowing he deserved to be talked to this way and also wanting to lock Jellybean in a closet.

“If you manage to get your head out of your ass by the time she gets back, maybe you can grovel for her forgiveness,” Jellybean suggested. “No matter how big of a jerk you were, she might still be a little soft on you, you lucky sonofabitch.”

He nodded. He really didn’t have anything to say. He was, at the moment, indefensible. “Where’s dad?”

“At the bridge.”

“Does he know what I did to Betty?”

“Yep. I told him when I went looking for you.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, motherfucker.”

 

*********************

 

FP was smoking his cigar, staring out of the bridge into space. He seemed reticent, with his feet up on the dashboard controls and a can of soda in his hands.

Jughead was slightly afraid to approach, definitely ashamed of himself, and absolutely expecting that FP would be up and throwing a punch at his face. He deserved it.

“Dad.”

Mildly, FP looked over his shoulder at his son, not moving an inch. “Hey! There he is!”

Jughead sighed, still bracing for impact, even as he took the seat across from FP. “So, just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“How big of an idiot asshole I am.”

FP smirked. He said nothing at first, looking at him with what Jughead could only assume was amusement. “Jug, you’re looking at the biggest fuck up I know. I ain’t casting stones.”

It took a moment for Jughead to fully understand what his father just said. “Do you think I can make this—this _thing_ in me go away?”

“I’m not an expert on PTSD son, but I know that at the very least, people have found ways to cope, to kinda rise above it. If I can stay sober for this long, you can find a way through your shit.”

Jughead grabbed hold of his father’s words. If FP can do it, he can do it, too. “I need help, dad.”

“We all do at some point, kid. It ain’t the end of the universe. I got a guy…”

 

Tbc

  
  
  



	4. The Penitent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all had a lovely Christmas and I wish you all a wonderful New Year ahead.

 

The bustling metropolis known as Kel was probably one of the loveliest in the star system. It was known for its commitment to architecture and its inherent need to make all things, especially functional things, beautiful. It wasn’t the cheapest place in the galaxy, but it was still cheaper than living in--for example--New York City.

Kel was in the tiny planet of Huthoth, one among the large cluster of tiny planets that comprised the Terella star system. Each planet had one city and one agricultural settlement, existing in perfect symbiosis. It was an idyllic lifestyle, clean, safe, and sustainable.  It was also fairly isolated from Quadrants 1 and 2. Some would find that situation a compromise--to live in in this beautiful place but be so far away from the bustling, exciting life of the more populated parts of the galaxy, but many thought the situation incredibly ideal.

As Betty looked up at the well-appointed luxury apartment building that Chuck Clayton lived in, she had a feeling he might be among the latter. After all, when half-a-dozen claims of sexual harassment were responsible for running you out of your basketball career, while forcing you to escape to some of the farthest reaches of space, one ought to be thankful for a place like Kel.

“So, why am I here again instead of Jones?” Malachi asked behind her.

She tried not to sigh so loud. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

Her mouth tightened to a grim line and she tried to push the memories of Jughead and his hurtful words out of her mind. That she managed to keep herself together when Jellybean first stumbled upon her in the engine room was quite the miracle--as it was, Jellybean knew something was wrong, but Jellybean didn’t push, and she clung to the lead Jellybean had for her.

Betty needed some distance from Jughead, to soothe her raw feelings. She had to tell herself he was going through a lot, that he possibly didn’t mean what he said. But if Jughead did indeed just dump her--and she hadn’t wrapped her head around that yet--she had to prepare herself for that, too, and the possibility that she might actually have to work somewhere else, at least for the time being. She didn’t think she could survive being at the Wyrm, in the same ship as Jughead, and _not_ be in a relationship with him. Not while the a breakup was so raw. It would be too painful.

She looked over her shoulder at Malachi and scowled. “Are you going to be my backup or not? I asked for Shelly May, you know. You’re the one who insisted on coming with me, instead.”

Malachi grinned.  “I just thought this was a man’s job, blondie.”

“Oh, well, then if you see one, let me know.”

His laughter was real. He wasn’t offended at all. “I hope you know that I totally dig it that you’re sassy and borderline rude.”

She didn’t even roll her eyes. She refused to show him that this was bothering her in any way.

With a determined scowl, she made for the apartment complex’s guardhouse window and taking a deep, cleansing breath, turned her scowl into a stiff smile. She continued smiling even as the guard’s expression conveyed total disinterest in what she had to say. She asked, pleasantly, to see Chuck Clayton and pulled up his apartment number on her tag, which consisted of an unpronounceable alien symbol and a series of numbers.

The guard eyed her pointedly and she widened her smile. The guard transferred her gaze to Malachi, who flashed her a smile of his own. Ultimately, that seemed to satisfy the guard’s security procedures.

The guard began to work on her touchscreen and took a moment to speak to whom Betty assumed was Chuck on the other end of the line. Seconds later, the guard leaned into her mic and said, “You and your companion can go through.”

“Thanks!” Betty chirped, motioning for Malachi to follow her.

She hoped they didn’t have metal detectors, or the piece tucked into the small of her back was going to cause a racket.

They passed through without incident and once through the gates, she led the way to Chuck’s apartment building, set in a circular compound. Its grounds were meticulously maintained, with landscaped gardens and inspired sitting areas. When she walked into the reception area, she was told to go head and walk up to Chuck’s floor.

“This guy’s loaded,” Malachi said as they walked into the elevator.

“He makes good money at his job.”  She knew the technicians were paid well, and she could only assume that Chuck may still have some royalties and investments running from his basketball days, but if he was taking money from her father to do his dirty work, that would probably add to Chuck’s already considerable bank account.

As they got out on Chuck’s floor, she turned to Malachi. “I’ll do the talking, alright? I just need you to be in the background and do what you have to do. Got that?”

“Whatever you want, blondie.”

Betty tried not to scowl. Even in her state of emotional fragility, she wished Jughead were here. She wouldn’t have to feel so tense because she trusted Jughead would know what to do.  Not that Malachi would hurt her, but he was more likely to do something she preferred he didn’t.

She rang Chuck’s doorbell, and when the door finally slid open, Chuck welcomed her with a grin, even if he was looking distractedly over her shoulder at Malachi.

“Hey, Chuck,” she said, her tone mild but not nearly as friendly as it should be, considering they’d been hanging out at work on a regular basis.

He nodded, wary but not put off. “Betty. Shocked to see you here… but in mostly a good way. Who’s your friend?”

Malachi wasn’t wearing his usual outlandish furs and his shirt was buttoned up. At the moment, he was wearing what Betty would classify as a casual suit that only Malachi could possibly get away with.

“Bodyguard,” she replied, and the unpleasant snort Malachi emitted told her he didn’t like that so much. Jughead would’ve taken the role without comment. “CEO’s daughter and all.  Can we come in?”

“Sure.” Chuck stepped away from the door and Betty walked through.

Malachi followed and pushed back his jacket to reveal the gun at his side--highly unnecessary, Betty thought.

She really missed Jughead now.

“So,” Chuck said carefully. “Not a social call.”

“I have questions,” Betty said, seeing no point in doing the run-around.  “You’ve been in the company--what? Going on three Earth years now?”

His eyebrow arched in surprise. “Yeah… thereabouts.”

“You like working for the company?”

“Pay’s alright and the benefits are pretty damn good. Best I could hope for, considering. What is this?”

She cocked a sardonic smile and ignored his question. “Considering you got run out of the 1st and 2nd Quadrant for sexually harassing a bunch of women?”

Chuck gave a loud sigh, but he nodded, throwing up a hand. “Yeah. Finally pulled out those receipts--knew you would at some point. I never lied to you about having a problematic past, Cooper.”

She acknowledged that with a nod.

“If you really went through the rest of my file, you’ll see that I’ve been trying to make amends ever since. I got help; I took women’s study courses; I helped bring awareness by sharing my experiences _as_ the sexual harasser--never pretended I was an angel, and I try to make myself a positive influence by doing outreach work for--”

“I know all that, Chuck.”

“Look, I acknowledge that I’ll be paying for the things I did my entire life, but what’s this about?”

She could see the hardness in Chuck’s gaze, how he was barely fazed by his character being brought to question. This was likely the sort of thing he’d had to deal with the last six years of his life and it wasn’t that he was angry. He looked quite calm, but he was tired of bullshit. Whatever she was getting at, he didn’t want the run-around, either.

“Beyond the social work, you were basically unemployable,” she said, leaning in. “You couldn’t get a job.”

“I understand that a company would be better off not hiring a known sexual harasser. No surprise there.”

“And yet my father’s company hired you in spite of knowing all that.”

Chuck gave a sardonic laugh. “Out here at the edge of the 3rd and 4th, for a position mostly hidden from sight? People didn’t care so much what I did in the past. Basketball’s my greatest talent, but I’m one hell of a server technician. I went to college, too, girl. I didn’t ask for much, I had the skills, and hardly anyone knows I work there. Reed was the hiring manager. Ask him why he hired me. I just took the job when they offered it to me.”

Betty drummed her fingers on his kitchen countertop. “Does my father offer you money to wipe information for him?”

Chuck seemed surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“Whitewashing. Sweeping away breadcrumbs. Scattering binaries. Data encryption. Hashing--”

“That’s hacker lingo, Cooper. How do you know so much about it?”

“I know a guy.”

Chuck scoffed. “Oh, do you? The only hacking I’ve ever done is streaming bootleg movies.”

“That’s a Galactic offense,” Malachi chimed in.

He wasn’t wrong, but she shot Malachi a glare, anyway.

“You gonna arrest me, Sid Vicious?”

Malachi laughed. “As a matter of fact--”

Betty stepped between them. “Really, Malachi?”

“He asked!” Malachi cried, chuckling, but he did back off. He started walking around the room, looking at the gadgets set up all over the apartment, no doubt a show of losing interest in the proceedings.

Betty grit her teeth, steeling herself for the next line of questioning. Chuck was a cool customer and it was difficult to tell if he was hiding something or not. He seemed mostly unfazed, which could mean he was good at lying or he didn’t do it.

“Were you ever asked by my father, or someone who worked for him, to wipe information from the systems?” she asked.

Chuck scoffed and shook his head. “No. Never, but you thought it was me because of my past.”

Of course it had been his past, as well. There were only so many reasons a rising basketball star in the GBA would disappear into the deep reaches of the 3rd Quadrant, and when the unemployable became employed, it was easy to assume that he would do anything to keep that job. But it wasn’t just that.

“Data has been wiped, Chuck. That I know for sure, and traces of it led back to your computer. That’s why I’m here.”

“Listen, Cooper,” he continued in a weary tone. “I get it. Given my past, I can be easily coerced into doing someone’s dirty work. And maybe that’s true…”

She crossed her arms over her chest, wondering now whether she should be listening to this. It was easy enough to play innocent by reflecting back what could be his motives.

“If your dad told me to do something and threaten me with the loss of this job--maybe even more--you know, like he might hash out my past and make me even more unemployable in these parts? I’d probably cave. I can’t imagine that wiping away data is that hard--”

“It’s not, but if it’s to cover up a murder, would it still be easy?” she said, feeling the anger in her voice rise. Everytime she remembered that someone tried to kill Jughead, it wrenched her heart, then it made her want to run back to Kestra Prime and burn the place to the ground.

Chuck’s eyes widened. “Fuck. Is that what this is? A murder investigation?”

She wasn’t going to tell Chuck that Jughead was alive, so if he knew anything at all, she would let him think Jughead was still dead, but people did die. There were several murders and countless other heinous crimes. “It’s many things, but yes, murder is involved. If it’s not you, then it’s someone else. I suppose there are three other people who have full access to the server rooms.”

Chuck scowled. “Hey, I’d cut off my hand before I believe anyone else in the crew would do that shit. Dalarine bakes decorative cakes and is a mom of three. She would never do anything like that. Yang Shui flies to the 1st Quad to protest all sorts of injustices--her current cause is to end child labor in the Theria star system, and Krishang spends his free time attending live concerts and going to comic conventions. They are _not_ the suspects you’re looking for. And they aren’t the _only_ people with full access to the server room. There are two more: You and the HR guy, Reed.”

_Reed._

She actually paused and gave it some serious thought. The payoff had been routed through the payroll, which in the grand scheme of a cover up made sense. Erasing the data was one thing, but generating the funds for payment was a task in itself. If anything, Chuck would have to be working in tandem with Reed.

“Besides,” Chuck continued. “If me or any one of the server crew did this, we’d probably do a better job of hiding that trail. You and your hacker friend wouldn’t have found it so easily.”

Jellybean might take umbrage at that comment.

“You’re not off the hook, Chuck,” Betty said, already heading for the door.

Chuck sighed. “Yeah, well… if you’re trying to take your dad down, any chance that you can spare the company? I really need this job.”

Betty felt that stab of guilt, but she said nothing as she opened the door to leave. She walked out, Malachi trailing after her. Chuck didn’t call her back or say goodbye as she walked down the hall. All she heard was Chuck’s door sliding shut.

She paused in her tracks to speak to Malachi. “Were you able to--”

He scoffed. “Of course. He’ll never find it.”

She had to admit, Malachi’s sleight of hand was impressive.  She plugged in her earpiece as they headed out of the building and contacted Jellybean.

Jellybean picked up immediately. “I got the signal. Good work, Betts. I’m patching into Chuck’s devices as we speak.”

“Thank Malachi. I didn’t even notice him leaving the transceiver.”

“That’s right, blondie. I get the job done.” Malachi interjected from behind her.

Betty rolled her eyes but laughed in spite of herself. “Listen, I may have another suspect, and if you can get me his address, that would be awesome. Suspect is known as Reed. Can’t pronounce his real name…”

 

******************

 

Reed lived a little farther out in Riven, also a small planet in the Terella star system. This planet, from what travel bloggers said, had a more suburban feel, more commonly characterized by small to medium-sized houses, but with a cluster of bigger houses situated farther north.  It had its own agricultural sector, too, wanting for nothing in food and even its clothing. The planet imported electronics--a standard practice across the galaxy, and with the Cooper Gestalt Corp so near, most of its vehicles had a CGC stamp on them.

Betty sat in her craft at a Rivens Commons parking lot as Jellybean pulled up more of Reed’s history. A quick look in his past and Jellybean couldn’t exactly find anything that would indicate that he could do anyone’s dirty work. He hardly got any tickets--he had _one,_ for parking on the wrong side of the street, but other than that, he seemed fairly regular.

He was single, he participated in community activities, joined town committees, was an excellent employee, and he kept a couple of aquatic pets. From what they could tell of him, there was absolutely no motivation for him to do what Chuck was insinuating he did.

When Jellybean went deeper, all she could find was an obsessive passion for knitting.

“Explains the sweaters,” Betty muttered under her breath.

Perhaps the most damning thing about Reed was his casual enjoyment of pimple popping videos. Gross, but common. There was nothing insidious about Reed.

When Betty showed up at his two-story town home to interview him, Reed became a bundle of nerves, and yet nothing suggested that he did it. He couldn’t have, as he knew next to nothing about programs and hacking. He could be faking it, of course, but he’d have to be a criminal mastermind living a double life, because his data history suggested that he bought all of his digital movies, music, and other content. He wasn’t even sharing a Homeflix password with his sister—he had his own. The only thing he was hacking into was cauliflower rice and tofu burgers—he was vegetarian and he was swearing off carbs.

He was not the hacker they were looking for.

“Well, has Chuck called anyone yet since we left him?” Betty asked.

“Yeah. He called Krishang. Told him all about you and what you did, but he’s mostly just disappointed that you befriended them all to investigate them.”

The guilt twisted in her gut again. She supposed her cover was blown wide open at this point and there was no reason for her to show up at work.  Her father was also pretty much going to get the lowdown on what she was doing, especially if Reed found out.

“We may need to dig into the other members of the server team,” Jellybean said, carefully. “We got nothing on Reed. Chuck’s still a suspect, in any case. We have his house bugged and I’ve got the hook on all his gadgets. If he does anything electronically, I’ll catch it.”

“Great,” Betty muttered.

Malachi, who was casually leaning against her craft, laughed. “You aren’t losing your nerve, are you? And need I remind you that Chuck sexually harassed young women in his prime.”

She rolled her eyes. “Coming from you, that’s rich.”

Malachi actually paused to think about it.

She didn’t have to explain to Malachi that she wasn’t an expert at faking relationships. To be able to get along with the server crew, she had to give some of her true self and that no matter how many times she told herself that her lies were necessary, that she was doing it for Jughead, she couldn’t help it if she developed a kinship with Krishang, Yang Shui, Dalarine, and Chuck. Even knowing what Chuck did, now, she could go back on many of their conversations and recall regret in his tone, and that he actively sought to make amends, to be a better person, and to spread awareness of what he’d done to keep others informed—she couldn’t help but take that into consideration.

“Chuck said Yang Shui’s quite the activist. Maybe she was manipulated into doing dad’s dirty work.” Betty sighed as she said that. She hated making these insinuations. She believed that not everyone was so Machiavellian, that a lot of the time, people did noble things in the right way. Not everyone had such a cynical view of life, and yet here she was, having to assign motive to someone who just wanted to end child labor.

“I’ll need more time,” Jellybean said. “Come back home and we’ll continue this tomorrow. It’s not like you can go back to the office anymore, right? Not after you’ve interrogated two of your coworkers.”

There was a bark in the background and Hotdog’s face came on screen, licking the monitor, much to Jellybean’s disgust.

Betty couldn’t help but smile affectionately at Hotdog and Jellybean’s love, even as she worried about what this day yielded. Depending on how quiet or gabby the server team were, it was only a matter of time before her father found out that she was snooping.

On the matter of Harvey being alive, he was good enough about keeping his survival quiet--to keep a low profile so that nobody came for him with questions, or worse, to finish the job Ben failed at.  Harvey promised that his brother, Tommy, was the only one in his family privy to Harvey’s whereabouts. Harvey was, currently, flying in Malachi’s ship as an extra gun--at least for the meantime.

Betty suspected that Sabrina had more to do with his sudden desire to travel through space than an actual fear of being found hiding out in his hometown of Greendale.

Jellybean’s eyebrows began to knot, just like her brother’s. “You’re not thinking of going back in that office, are you? Because _now_ Jug’s right about that being dangerous for you. Now that you’ve outed yourself, you’re better off investigating remotely.”

“Relax, JB. I’m turning in for the day.” She was tired, both emotionally and physically. When was she supposed to give this up? Should she? Honestly, she had over the course of the last few weeks wished she could, but she needed to protect the people she loved and given the lengths Hal went through to get rid of Jughead, she couldn’t assume it was over.  

If she quit her job now, Hal was going to start looking to blame FP and Jellybean, or whomever else he perceived as the cause of her wanderlust. He was never going to stop.

She caught Malachi giving her an amused grin. “What?”

Malachi shrugged. “No judgement, blondie. Superheroes gotta rest, too.”

As smarmy as Malachi could get, he really was a charming sonofabitch. “Thanks for the backup, Malachi.”

“Anytime. Any chance I can take you out to dinner?”

“None at all.”

“I promise not to tell Jonesey. No? Well, never hurts to ask.” Malachi waved at her over his shoulder as he hopped into his craft and took off.

As Betty flew the Vixen back to the Whyte Wyrm, she was struck with a thought. “Hey, JB, how hard was it to find that ghost in the system that gave us this lead?”

Jellybean snorted. “Pretty hard. It was expertly done, and diverted, it seemed. I couldn’t trace its origin. It looked like it came from Chuck, and even that was a difficult trace, definitely meant to be a red herring if he didn’t do it, because Chuck’s right--it’s still too obvious. Whoever did this knows his or her stuff.”

“Can you send me what background information you’ve gotten on Krishang, Dalarine, and Yang Shiu? I may as well spend my free time looking them over.”

“Okie dokie.”

Betty spent the rest of the ride troubled by how far her father would go to get what he wanted. When did he become so ruthless? It was almost--

_Psychotic._

All the money and prestige in the galaxy and he was no better than a mob boss, except that perhaps his co-conspirators had that veneer of legitimacy to make it even harder to get caught doing dirty deeds.

But was she really that surprised? She’d seen the stone cold objectivity--the lack of warmth and regret at making hard decisions that affected thousands of employees. She’d seen her father shut down an entire planetary operation because it was underperforming--not losing, but underperforming, so he closed the entire place down.

He made a show about giving all the laid off employees one-year severance packages and he was lauded for his generosity, but by the numbers alone--the relatively low pay, the loss vs. profit--that magnanimity didn’t hurt Cooper Gestalt one bit. It was strategic. It was well played.  

Good business decision? Certainly. But 80% of those laid-off employees had nowhere else to go. If Hal had kept that unit going the next ten years, it might have underperformed, but it was still making a small profit, and given its steady inflow, it could only get better. People would still have jobs.  

Betty only grew more uncomfortable with the mass layoff when she discovered that the Regional VP for that unit had gained a reputation for being a dissenting voice against Hal in the boardroom. Given that Betty was still being kept at arm’s-length from those power meetings, she couldn’t confirm if there was any truth to those rumors, that Hal shut down the entire operation just because its sector leader was pissing him off.  It just seemed so preposterous at the time, but with what happened to Jughead and the amount of money involved--the loss of the ESDC contract if it was confirmed that she wasn’t coming back from her sabbatical at all, or worse, Jughead getting in the way of ESDC officers and their kickbacks--it didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.

Betty was so preoccupied by thoughts of her father’s nefarious schemes that she hardly noticed who was in ship bay when she docked the Vixen.

 

********************

 

Jughead looked up from his book when he heard the Vixen’s approach. He’d been reading the book for hours to pass the time, but he hadn’t gotten far. He’d been distracted by the words he’d said to Betty, by the nightmares that had been plaguing him, and the many fears that have been wearing him down.

He was also preoccupied with what he wanted to tell Betty when she returned, worried that she wouldn’t want to listen to him, and afraid that she wouldn’t forgive him.

FP had shown up a couple of times, perhaps to lend support by offering idle chit chat. FP was never big on emotions, but talking to Jughead about mundane things, as if there weren’t bigger issues in Jughead’s mind, actually helped.

The closest FP came to talking about Betty at all was saying, “Back in the day, I never would’ve gotten through a situation like this sober, son. So you already have a leg up on me. You’re going to be fine.”

However low that bar is, Jughead appreciated FP’s words of encouragement, especially knowing that FP didn’t ingest a drop of alcohol while Jughead was MIA—presumed dead, even. He was proud that his father had pushed through it all, completely sober, and it meant a lot that his father was optimistic of his chances with making things right with Betty.

He clung to all this, even as his worry permeated him, even as he was listening to Betty’s audio feed earlier and hearing the aggravating familiarity of both Chuck and Malachi towards her. He recounted the promises he was willing to offer her, just enough to make her consider perhaps taking him back, even on a probationary basis.

When the Vixen finally landed in ship bay, he got to his feet. The two weeks of healing had graduated him to a hands-free crutch, which looked closer to a leg brace. It enabled him to walk as close to normal as one with a broken ankle could. He had a limp, for sure, but if he was wearing cargo pants, like he often did, he just looked stiff legged, bent slightly at the knee. It was easier to get around with it, but he hoped that if he had to beg for Betty’s forgiveness, it wouldn’t necessitate him crawling on his hands and knees, because with all belts that he had to undo, the dramatics of it would be lost in the awkward process of it all.

He went to her, his heart hammering in his chest. He was expecting the worst and hoping for the best.

“Betty,” he said, tentatively.

She looked up, briefly, then tore her gaze from his.

His stomach dropped. “Betty, I know I fucked up.”

“You hurt me,” she said, without pause or tremble. “How can you even believe I would be so awful as to think you’re broken and worthless?”

Tears were spilling from her eyes, but she hadn’t walked out on him. She was locking the Vixen into the hold, securing it in place. He could only hope this meant she was willing to listen to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a quiet tone. “I’m so sorry, Betts. There is no excuse for the things I said to you.”

She paused what she was doing, motioned to say something, but perhaps thought better of it, continuing on her task.

He swallowed, hoping she hadn’t completely lost faith in him. “They came from the worst side of me. I’ve been feeling things I’ve been ashamed of and they’ve been creating monsters in my head. I grew insecure and angry. I grew afraid.”

“Jug,” she breathed, and there was sadness in her eyes. “Did you not believe in me?”

Her sadness scared him and he went on desperately. “I gave into my panic and fear, Betts. I’m sorry.”

She sighed. “I don’t know how else I can be there for you, Jug.”

“I’ve called someone. A professional--you know, to help me. Maybe--maybe the nightmares would stop, or lessen. I don’t know, but if I can only get a bit more sleep, I may be able to start getting back some of my old self.”

She looked at him, eyes bright with what he liked to think was hope. “Did you, really? Call for help?”

Heat crept up his face. It dawned on him that admitting that was a vulnerability he’d never shown before. “Y-Yeah. It was just a preliminary. Talked to a specialist who might recommend me to someone else, but, you know--first steps and all…”

“I’m glad,” she breathed, turning to him and leaning against the Vixen. “I’m so glad you did that. I think they can help you better.”

His heart was constricting in his chest. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Betty. I told you you’re better off without me and maybe--maybe that’s true, but I think I might be a total wreck if--” He couldn’t say the words. “If you won’t take me back, I’ll get off this ship--fly with Toni or Joaquin for the time being. I’ll get better, I promise you, and then maybe you can consider taking me back, then? I swear, I’ll do what I have to--”

 _“Stop,”_ she whispered, closing the distance between them.

His hope soared before he could stop it, and when her hands cupped his face, he couldn’t help but press his own hands over them.

“You need _us, Juggie,”_ she said. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here with us.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his own eyes filling. “I’ve become unpredictable, maybe volatile. I’m so scared of what I might do--”

She shook her head. “It’s going to be alright, Jug. We’re going to help you through this. I’m going to help you through this. No matter what, alright?”  

He nodded, daring to press his lips to hers. She pulled him closer and leaned into the kiss. He sighed with relief, wrapping his arms around her. He whispered his own words of love and promises between kisses, because her forgiveness was a treasure he had no intention of squandering.

“I love you, Betts,” he whispered in her ear. He didn’t deserve her, but he was going to let her decide whether or not she was going to put up with him.

She smiled up at him, holding his face between her hands. “Juggie, I love you so much. Never doubt that again.”

Again, he nodded, sealing that promise with a kiss.

 

******************

 

She clung to him, her fingers laced through his, feeling an overwhelming sense of closeness with him that she hadn’t felt in weeks. There was relief, love, and recovery, like that first night she had him back since he’d gone missing.

She knew he still had a long way to go, but the first step he took on his own meant so much.

He hadn’t let go of her, either, not when they were talking to Jellybean, not even when Hotdog sat between them, sensing, perhaps the peace, the mending of hurt. He barked joyously for their attention.

FP, for once, didn’t complain at the lack of space between them.

And at night, when they were alone in his bedroom, he wrapped her in the embrace of his body and and he began to tell her what happened in Kestra Prime, from the moment they crash landed to his first day in the mining camps. It was horrifying and tragic, but it threw into stark detail what made his nightmares so soul-crushing, what made his visions so paralyzing, and why rage, paranoia, and all his other primal feelings were afflicting him.

They both cried as she held him and he told his tale, and three hours later, he wasn’t even done, but he was exhausted, and she was coaxing him to rest. To take a break.

His vulnerability made her want to prove her complete acceptance of what he was going through, even while he told her that he didn’t want his trauma to put a strain on their relationship.  

“Everything was so good before all this,” he said, laying on their side and his gaze meeting hers.

She ran her finger lightly against his jaw, kissing him to reassure him first. “Maybe. Things are easier when they’re good, aren’t they? But we weren’t running in fields of flowers and catching butterflies, Juggie. We had our challenges, and we’re stronger for it. _This_ has made us stronger already, right?”

His eyes softened at her words. “Betts, I keep thinking you deserve much better than this.”

She scoffed. “And what do you mean by that? Fashion shows and glamorous parties? Glitzy clubs and red carpets?”

“Well, _yeah.”_

She shot him a mildly scolding look. “Even if I did like any of that, which you know I don’t, that life includes many versions of Nick St. Claire and Archie. Also, I’ll be working and living with my psycho father.”

“You know what I mean,” he said in a soft tone. “You of all people can get past all that, and you will probably be spending your entire life making rockets, finding your own way, doing good, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll find a nice guy who has a shit ton of money, like Trev Brown, or Reggie Mantle--you can’t tell me that dude doesn’t stare at your ass when you rock climb with him.”

“God, you weren’t kidding about your jealousy being out of control.”

His face reddened. “I told you…”

She cast him a forgiving smile. “Juggie, I am making and fixing rockets all day, I’m putting away bad guys daily, and I’m saving the love of my life, who happens to be a really, really nice guy. I have everything I need right here.”

“I’m not nice these days. And I don’t have a shit ton of money, or a fuck load. I have _some_ savings that are sitting in a bank, and I won’t invest them in stocks or properties because I can’t afford to risk them. Everything I own is right here in this ship.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, pulling him closer. “I am privileged enough not to care about money, I guess. I may be earning it the same as you right now, but I have holdings and stocks at home that are just sitting there, waiting to be withdrawn, even if both my parents disown me, but it’s still completely true that I don’t need all that to be happy with you. So maybe things are rough for you right now and you’re thinking you aren’t as nice as you used to be, but I don’t think anyone’s nice 100% of the time. We all have stuff we have to deal with. We can only hope it makes us better people--stronger. I don’t even know if I ever want to be described as _nice._ Been there, done that, it’s not all it’s cut out to be.”

His hand snaked around her waist, his fingers running along the garter of her underwear.

She could feel him stirring in his pants, but he didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry.

“I don’t know if I can play in bed the way we used to,” he said in a whisper. “I don’t think I can handle the cuffs and the blindfolds and…”

Her heart started to break for him. “Oh, baby, don’t. Even without all that, you know how to satisfy me so, so well.”

His sigh of distress conveyed how unconvinced he was.

“Juggie, look at me. Our sexual relationship is built on trust, not the props and roleplays. Remember? We used to discuss these things before we did them.”

He frowned, but nodded. “Used to. We’ve gotten into a rhythm, an instinct for it where we know each other’s limits. Know when to ask and when to stop. Going back to sitting down and talking about it feels like a regression. I don’t want to bore you.”

She pushed herself up on her elbow to look him in the face. “It’s not a regression. It’s about preserving the trust. It’s about making both of us feel assured of what we’re doing to each other. None of this will be satisfying to either of us if you feel pressure to perform, so we’re shelving this for now. Has sex not been good for you, the way we’ve--”

He cut her words off with a rough kiss, is hand cupping the back of her neck. She was panting by the time they parted. “God, it’s been good, Betts. Real good. I just--”

“Don’t ever worry that you’re not satisfying me,” she whispered, sliding over his body and straddling him. “You’re good at it. Great at it.”

She sat up, settling on his hips and staring down at his upturned face. She peeled off her shirt, breasts instantly bare for him. “Do these bore you?”

“Fuck, no.” His hands slid up her waist, reaching to cup and caress. “Everyday I thank the universe that I’m allowed to do this.”

His touch sent instant heat coursing through her body, and when she felt him growing hard, her center instantly ached for him.

“Juggie, I want you already,” she breathed, grinding her hips against him. “But if this is all too vanilla for you—“

He flipped them over and she shrieked with laughter, silenced only by his hungry kiss. The weight of his body on her center filled her with desire and she gasped when he pulled away.

“Fuck me now, Juggie. I want you _now.”_

He tutted slowly, and in that instant, she recognized his dominance, that dependable lover who knew how to torture her so sweetly. “Ask nicely, baby, and maybe I will.”

Her thoughts scattered. She could. She should. Asking nicely might get her what she wanted, but she was in the mood to play.

“Nice is boring,” she whispered in his ear, biting gently on the lobe of it. She canted her hips to rub against his erection.

His groan of pleasure was immensely satisfying. “Then I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”

 

******************

 

She wanted nothing more than to lie in bed after her previous night’s activities with Jughead, but there were conversations to be had over the comm, and she needed to be at her room when she had them.

Carefully, she slipped out of Jughead’s arms so she wouldn’t wake him. He hadn’t woken once in the last seven hours. He’d slept soundly. Probably the most sleep he’d had in a while, and she liked to think that it was because they’d had a good long talk about the things that have been plaguing him, and the milestone he’s had, seeking help for his trauma.

He mumbled softly as she shifted them, but he went right back to sleep.

Pulling the cover over him more securely, she got dressed in her clothes and a borrowed pair of drawstring pants from Jughead’s closet. She left to go to her room and once there, she made herself slightly more presentable.

She changed into one of her tailored designer shirts, with its geometric collar and capped sleeves, and paired it with designer jeans, then she tied her hair back in a ponytail, applied light makeup, and had to meditate briefly to recall some of her more refined Cooper sensibilities.  

When she felt ready, she settled on her desk with the comm Veronica had given her for her birthday and contacted her siblings.

She called Polly, first.

She’d been in contact with Polly on and off since leaving Earth, but much of their communication had fallen by the wayside when Jughead disappeared, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when Polly’s first words were to demand whether she was working for their father’s company again.

“Daddy has been completely insufferable about it and I am almost convinced that he is delusional. Tell me it isn’t true.”

Betty knew this would come up and she was fully prepared to explain everything, but she wanted to get some of the preliminaries out of the way before she contacted Chic and linked all three of their comms.

“I’ll explain everything once we have Chic on the line, but first how are you and the babies? Are you finally rid of that reporter that was bothering you?  Is Chic still sober?”

Polly took the diversion for the meantime. She said that she and the babies were healthy and happy, that the reporter had ceased to bother her because Nick St. Claire was currently in a hurricane of very public sexual assault allegations from over two dozen women based on the expose of said reporter, and that Chic seemed to be holding his sobriety at the moment.

Betty was relieved that everything seemed relatively alright with her brother and sister.

When she had Chic on the line, they exchanged good natured sibling insults and a lot of self-deprecation on Chic’s part.

Assured that she had put Polly and Chic in a relaxed frame of mind, she felt better about extracting secrets from them because she had one of her own that they desperately needed to hear.

Chic confessed that he had a stash of cocaine hidden in one of his designer shoes and Polly confessed that she might be falling in love with a farmie.

“Ugh, Pol,” Chic groused.

Betty couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, be quiet, Chic. I think it’s sweet, especially in comparison to the fact that you’ve got drugs hidden in your closet, which you know I’m not going to let you get away with.”

She resolved to tell Veronica that Chic was hiding drugs in his place, which would probably have Veronica descending on his apartment with sniffer dogs.

Chic whipped her a sidelong glance as Betty told Polly that she was happy that Polly was finding love.

Polly shrugged. “Maybe. I suppose he reminds me of the more important things in life. He farms and walks around barefoot, and he desperately needs a shave, but he’s sweet, caring, and he calms me. He helps me with taking care of the kids--he’s so good with them. I can’t help what I feel.”

“He sounds like a dear.”

“He sounds like a bum,” Chic grumbled.

Betty shot him a frown. “Stop being such a snob, Chic. Polly’s rich enough for the both of them when it comes down to it. And really, if he’s a great guy, it doesn’t matter what he does for a living.”

“This isn’t about how much he makes,” Chic protested. “I wouldn’t equate this guy to Jughead, if I were you. Unlike your roughneck boyfriend, Polly’s man doesn’t have a job.”

“Why are you being so vile, Chic?” Betty cried.

“Sobriety,” Polly replied. “He’s cranky because he’s sober. Pay no attention to his negativity, Betty. It’s not like he’s wrong, anyway. Ezekiel doesn’t--”

“Ezekiel.”

“Shut up, Chic. As I was saying, Ezekiel does need to find an industry, and he will. He’s not lazy. He’s a hard worker, but he’s a little too Age of Aquarius, if you know what I mean. I’ll work some sense into him, don’t you worry.”

Betty refrained from mentioning that Polly’s Alice was showing right then and there.

Polly continued without batting an eyelash. “Now tell us _your_ secret, Betty.”

Taking a deep breath, Betty began to tell them the tale of Jughead’s disappearance, her journey to finding him, and her post-rescue investigations on their father. She left many details out, but she did tell them how Hal had paid off the family of the man tasked with murdering Jughead.

Even Chic looked shocked, then angry. “I knew it. I fucking knew he had it in him. Dad’s always been weird about you, Betty. I can’t tell exactly how, but that he sees you as a valuable possession makes a lot of sense. And yeah, I warned Jughead about him. I totally called that--”

Betty felt her stomach turning at his words, knowing they were true and feeling sickened by them, but Polly cut through his tirade.

“Wait a minute, you went to a distant planet and infiltrated a slave mine? Oh, my God, Betty!”

“No one else was going to do it!” Betty could feel her emotions welling, like all those weeks of worrying and grieving over Jughead came rushing back. “I didn’t have a choice. It was either that or I’d lose Jughead forever.”

Polly’s eyes softened. “Oh, honey—“

“Betty’s badass and she gets shit done, okay?” Chic interjected. “We know this. Can we talk about how dad actually tried to murder Jughead to get his way? Jesus, Polly!”

Polly scowled. “Do you have proof of this, Betty?”

Betty sighed and shook her head. “Not yet, but we’re following a lead. Dad thinks all traces of the transaction have been wiped, but Jellybean caught the trace. I’m still trying to find the person who wiped it, but we have enough to keep following this lead. I’m going to send dad my resignation letter this week and when I do find this proof, I’m taking him down, guys. Get your assets in order.”

Polly’s eyes widened. “Are you taking down the entire business?”

“That’s not my intention,” Betty said, quickly. “But if I’m going to make him pay for what he did, word might get out and the company might take a hit. It’s not what I want, because there are thousands of innocent employees--”

“What you want, Betty dearest, is a coup,” Polly said in a determined tone. “I don’t know if you can send dad to jail for this, honestly, because--you know, he’s a rich white man.”

Betty frowned but did not dispute it. The skepticism was founded.

Polly, however, wasn’t done. “But we can take everything away from him in one fell swoop--push him out, inoculate the company so we can save people’s jobs.”

Betty’s eyebrow arched in surprise. “B-But he built the company--”

“He did, but he didn’t grow it. A bunch of other people did that for him, and the name of the company is _Cooper_ Gestalt, not _Hal Cooper_ Gestalt. Last time I checked, there are four of us with a right to this company.”

Betty was staring at Polly in speechless awe. Even Chic was at a loss for words.

“Damn, Polly,” Chic said. “Is this what you’ve been doing while I’ve been in rehab?”

Polly scowled, flipping her hair over her shoulders. “I know that Betty’s the shining star in dad’s company, but you guys forget that I’ve got an MBA from Stern and I actually do have my own office at the New York branch. We all, Betty, Mom, and yes, even you, Chic, have shares in this company. I’ve made nice with our stockholders and board members. I have friends in this company and know how the business is run, but I’ve been on maternity, so I guess I haven’t paid as much attention while I’ve been away.”

Betty sat back on her chair, the gears in her brain turning. “Can you, really? Overtake the company?”

“There’s been tension in the boardroom for years. Dad’s bombastic and aggressive, but he’s old school. He’s holding the company back and the young blood trickling into the company have started to recognize that. I haven’t pushed back as much because he’s family, but many board members weren’t thrilled by his growing ties with weapons manufacturing and the ESDC. Coupled with the fact that you resigned for a time and some grumblings of instability at home…”

Betty always wondered whether anyone else saw the cracks in the Cooper veneer outside of their respective inner circles. “Instability, like the stuff the three of us have been getting up to?”

Polly scoffed. “That’s par for the course for rich kids like us, Betty. The children of wealthy men act up. We’re the trifecta: The Addict, the Slut, and the Prodigal. No, it’s not about us, it’s about him and mom. Mom’s going to divorce him.”

“What?” Betty cried, along with Chic.

This was news to both of them.

Polly nodded. “Mom’s been talking to me about it for months, because you know, marriage is a contract.”

Betty never thought about marriage being a contract, especially in the context of Jughead. Marriage was such an emotional thing for her, associated with love, respect, promises, and growing families. It slipped her mind that for a couple like her parents, it had become a transaction.

“I know why you didn’t tell me,” Chic said. “But why didn’t you tell Betty?”

Betty wondered that herself.

Polly cast her an apologetic look. “Mom prides herself for being razor sharp, Betty. She didn’t think it was relevant for your to know until everything was ironed out.”

_“Relevant?”_

“This is mom we’re talking about. Come now, are you surprised? She wants to make sure that dad couldn’t retaliate for the divorce by going after us, so mom’s been working to make sure we’re safe from being financially ruined. She’s protecting herself _and_ us, Betty, and I think she’s been doing that for us all our lives. How do you think I was able to have my fatherless babies, Chic his rehab, and you your jaunt in space with minimal repercussions from dad? There have been many things in the past, not just those, but you know mom… she has a holy fear of being thought of as _soft._ She’d rather be feared than loved.”

A wave of shock, and then guilt, suffused Betty. She always looked at her mother and thought of her as hard and unrelenting, never letting slip any control she may have and always pushing to shape her children into the exact image she wants them to be.  She was a difficult woman, for sure, but she never actually considered that Alice did these things because she was their mother, that this was Alice, _mothering._ She hadn’t considered that Alice could have done things to shield them from the worst their father could do to them.  

“Mom’s been working with her lawyers to get her fair share in the assets of their marriage, mostly because dad might say she didn’t have a right to the company. She’s covered in that respect, but I can use the divorce to leverage for control of the shares in the board. That and allegations of contract killers, your second resignation--things are going to start falling apart for him, Betts, and maybe then, he can answer for the contract he put out on Jughead.”

Betty thought about everything Polly had told her. Her relationship with her mother was an entirely different set of issues that she had to deal with at some point, but the matter of her father was what she needed to focus on right now.  

Polly had given her a window into how to deal with Hal--for him to be stripped of his power so that he couldn’t hurt the people she loved. She still believed that all his actions had ties to the ESDC, and she was determined to find those ties, but undoing her father would do a lot to remove the ESDC from the business of getting rid of the Joneses. She had a specific plan in mind to get the ESDC off their backs for good, but first thing’s first.

“When do you think I should hand over my resignation letter?” Betty asked.

Polly nodded. “Our next board meeting is in a few days and if you’re up to it, I’d like you to tender your resignation during that meeting, just so everyone knows the truth. Send copies of your signed letter through the boardroom PMT so that we have it documented in writing. That should save you from his threats and intimidation to take the resignation back. What do you think about that?”

Betty chuckled. “I like the idea in theory. I’ll do it, but I don’t think that’s going to keep him from threatening me. We’ll see. I’m ready for him, either way.”

Polly shrugged. “Fine. So long as you’re all the way out there in the far reaches of space, you’re relatively safe.”

“I am, but please don’t tell anyone Jughead’s alive, either of you. I intend to keep that quiet for as long as I could.”

Polly and Chic nodded.

She said her goodbyes to her siblings, and when the call ended, she realized that _she_ was very much a contributor in the dysfunction in her family.  She had lived in her own world, apart from the rest of her family, too.  She had forgotten that she had allies in her siblings, perhaps even in her mother. She had been so engrossed in herself that she forgot that she even had a family at all. It took, perhaps, a trip across the galaxy, with people like the Joneses, to make her see her life from a different perspective.

After several minutes of contemplation, she decided to contact her mother.

When Alice answered her hail, Betty could tell that her mother was surprised.  “Well, I wonder what I did to conjure you into my comm, Betty. I did sacrifice a hairdresser the other day, so maybe it was that?”

It was strange, but Betty didn’t feel the bite of Alice’s words--not the way she would have in the past.  Still, she didn’t want her mother to think she had gone soft, either, so she kept her expression neutral as she said, “So, mom. I heard you’ve been plotting a divorce.”

The snide look disappeared from Alice’s face. Grooves began to form into her smooth skin. “It was Polly, wasn’t it? I swear, that girl couldn’t keep a secret from you or Chic if I gagged her mouth with clotted cream and scones. If you’ve called to dissuade me--”

Betty rolled her eyes, which stopped Alice mid-sentence. Alice looked furious that Betty would _dare,_ but Betty wasn’t picking for a fight. “I’m doing no such thing, mom. I’m calling to ask you what I can do to help.”

 

**********************

 

Jughead’s had a pretty good night’s sleep. If he were to go by his tag, he’d been asleep for almost ten hours. He hadn’t slept that long in the last decade, let alone these past couple of weeks.

It felt good, to be rested, and it felt even better, waking up with Betty beside him.

She was fully dressed--no doubt she’d been awake for hours now, but when he realized what she was wearing, it startled him awake.

“You look made up,” he remarked, his voice thick with sleep. “Are you going somewhere?”

She cocked him an amused smile. “I know I look like a slob most times--”

“That’s not what I mean,” he grumbled, throwing his arm across her lap in an attempt to drag her into the spoon of his body.

She laughed, making a futile attempt to resist. “I’m working. Don’t you see?” She held up the tablet she had in her hand.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and pressed kisses along her skin. “You can keep reading. Just… do it here.”

Her fingers made circles along his arm.  “Did you sleep well?”

He made a sound of assent, snaking his fingers under her expensive looking shirt. She looked pretty in this outfit.  She looked good in anything, but he preferred her in her old t-shirts and mechanic pants, her pigtails and perhaps even that smudge of grease on her nose. It was the roughneck in him, no doubt.

“Best sleep I’ve had in awhile. But seriously, are you going somewhere? You look like you’re going to visit your mother.”

She laughed at that. He loved the sound of it. He lately hadn’t been very successful at making her laugh the way he used to and he hoped that getting help would shift things back closer to normal in the coming weeks. If he had to live with this affliction the rest of his life, as close to normal as possible would be more than enough. He could work with that.

If the fitful sleep was any indication, things were already looking up.  

“I commed Polly, Chic, and mom this morning,” she confessed. “I dressed up for them. I couldn’t help it.”

She didn’t need to make excuses. He remembered how she coped with her family on Earth. He understood the concessions she had to make and the ways she connected with them. She didn’t have to explain to him why she had to act a certain way when she was talking to her siblings and her mother.  

At least she wasn’t talking to her father.

She pushed herself up to a sitting position and looked down at his upturned face. “I learned a few things about my family and myself, hard truths, but good ones, too. I don’t want to burden you any more than I have with my family’s dysfunction, but I want you to know that I realized today that they always had my back, and that they’re here for us--me, you, even FP and JB. Chic, Polly, mom, and I--we’re going to take my father down. This week.”

He hadn’t quite expected that and unspeakable worry churned in his gut. “Betty, your father—is that wise? Do you have to?”

“It’s the only way I can begin to keep you safe. Keep all of you safe. Juggie, he tried to have you killed! Because of me. I need to take that power away from him, and we can. We can take him out of the equation.”

He didn’t deserve her, and yet he needed to deserve her.

“How can I help you?”

She looked at him with such affection and tenderness that he might have followed her to the ends of the universe, based on her look of love alone. “A couple of things. When I go after the ESDC, I will probably need your help. Are you up for it?”

He already knew he couldn’t stop her, but why would he, really? He had every reason to hold the ESDC accountable for what they did to him, if they ever did leave him and his passengers out in Kestra Prime to die.  He had given them years of service and his complete loyalty, and they had repaid him in the worst way. ESDC soldiers were deployed with him and they had no idea that someone in the ESDC was making sure that they didn’t return to Earth.  

The ESDC betrayed them and someone needed to answer for that.

He sat up and gathered Betty’s hands in his. “I’m up for it.”

She nodded and picked up her tablet. “The other thing is this. One of the server technicians on my team--Dalarine. She has three sons, one of which is young man currently stationed at the Lyra star system as a soldier for the ESDC, expected to rise in the ranks. I suspect that she was coerced into cleaning up evidence of the payoff by someone who threatened her son’s life, or career. I would like to question her about this and I’d like some backup.”

He shouldn’t be so glad to be invited to go out and about interrogating suspects, but he was. He’d been cooped up in this ship for a while, marinating in his troubles, perhaps, and growing anxious of his place in the universe. Add to the fact that he missed being partners with Betty out in the field, this felt a lot like he was beginning to recover.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he replied, true relief in his voice.

A slow smile spread on her face and she leaned over to peck a kiss on his lips. “Suit up, then. We’re leaving in ten.”

 

**********************

 

Betty missed seeing Jughead in his regular bounty hunting clothes, the way he was dressed like a soldier on rec leave, with his cargo pants, his tank, and a blouse to go over it. The brace he had on his leg did nothing to take away from his physical presence. The kevlar underneath his shirt bulked him up a little, which made him look closer to normal with his body still recovering its usual mass.  And with his dogtags and firearms attached to him, she couldn’t help but respond to that primal instinct in her that found his cowboy swagger appealing.

With the backdrop of Riven, also where Dalarine lived, with its quiet streets lined with Spanish style houses, he seemed to fit into the out-of-quadrant Southern California theme.  

“What?” he asked when he caught her staring.

“This is how you looked when we went investigating in Oberlin Major. When we were pretending to be a couple. Do you remember?”

She could see his eyebrows quirking just behind his dark glasses. “Hard to forget. First time I kissed you.”

She was pleased he remembered that, though not surprised. “I had such a crush on you. I wasn’t sure if you liked me, too. You seemed so aloof before that.”

His lips were trying to contain his smile. “Dad said I wasn’t allowed.”

“The perfect deterrent, if any.”

He chuckled and she let the sound of it course through her. It was nice to be out with him on an investigation. It was heartening to see that his smile came a little easier.

She harbored no illusions that everything would be great from now on. She was prepared to deal with difficult times ahead, but she was optimistic. A little cautiously, perhaps, but there were reasons to think that they all can start to feel better equipped at helping him.

“Are you ready, Cowboy?”

He nodded. “I am.”

“Then let’s go.”

  
  



	5. The Reckoning

 

Dalarine was not at all happy to see Betty at her doorstep. She looked first, afraid, and then determined. She stood at the door, holding it half closed, as she perhaps contemplated shutting the door and running, most especially when she noticed Jughead and his dog tags.

Betty could imagine that Jughead’s demeanor and stance presented a stark familiarity to her own son, even outside of the ESDC uniform. 

The quiet sounds of two young children filtered through the doorway and Betty figured that unless Dalarine was willing to abandon her kids, she wasn’t about to bolt. 

“I’m not here to hurt you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Betty said before anything else. “I have questions and you need to answer them truthfully.”

Dalarine’s frown was deep. “So it’s true what Chuck said. You deceived us.”

Betty arched an eyebrow. That Dalarine had the balls to turn the tables around, as if she didn’t have anything to do with it, was almost fascinating. She must be vicious at the PTO. “Does Chuck know you made it seem like he did it?”

Dalarine sniffed haughtily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.  It seems to me that there’s a lot of finger pointing at the brown folk here.”

Betty had to admit, this level of ballsy was impressive. 

It was obvious, at that point, that Dalarine was not going to be easy. She was fiery and scrappy, using what weapons she had in her arsenal. While it was highly unlikely that she would launch a physical assault, Betty wasn’t going to let her guard down in the least.

“I don’t mean to drag you into this,” Betty said, hoping to ease Dalarine’s hard stance. “You are not my end goal. I need to know  _ who  _ asked you to do it, and I need to know if we can recover the original trace. Whether it’s my father or someone from the ESDC, I need to know who, because I need to stop  _ whatever is happening, _ permanently.”

Someone behind Dalarine asked for mommy, and Dalarine rolled her eyes, looking briefly over her shoulder. “Mommy is busy, Aarav. Give me a few minutes.”

It was clear to Betty that Dalarine had no intention of prolonging their conversation, the way things were going. She tried a different tact. “Dalarine, I want you to meet my partner--in work and in life. His name is Jughead and he is—was a pilot for the ESDC. A few months ago, he was deployed to a war zone where his ship crashed with a crew of six soldiers. He and those soldiers were declared MIA by the ESDC three days later. The ESDC had no plans of retrieving him or his passengers. I and a group of bounty hunters had to go out and retrieve him myself. We stormed a mining operation out in the far reaches of space—they had guns and mercenaries and we had to cause mayhem to make the rescue possible. He and one other soldier were all that remained of the seven on that crashed ship. The person who sabotaged his aircraft was also the person hired to kill him. That transaction you made go away? That was payment to the hired killer’s family. Jughead and all those soldiers were--are the sons and daughters, brothers or sisters of  _ someone _ . They were someone’s life and love. I know you understand this because you have a son in the ESDC. I can only assume you did what you did for him.”

Dalarine’s impenetrable stare began to crumble. Her eyes shifted to Jughead with pained expression. “I am sorry for what happened to you.”

Jughead shrugged. “Shit happens, ma’am.”

There was that  _ ma’am,  _ again, and it was just as disarming to Dalarine as it was to Alice back on Earth. 

Dalarine’s brows creased. “My son is a good man. He could have gone to any university, but he chose to serve in the ESDC. He said he wanted to help people, but that he wanted to travel the stars, too. He wasn’t afraid. My brave, strong boy.” 

“I’m sure you raised him to be the man he is,” Betty said. 

“If I tell you anything now, they will know it’s me and they will hurt him,” Dalarine said, the hardened look on her face returning. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

She began to close the door. 

Jughead shoved his braced foot against it. “Ma’am, if they did it to me, they can do it to him. If your son is as honorable and good hearted as you say he is, he isn’t going to sit down and let that kind of corruption taint him. He’ll say something and they will ship him off to some suicide mission, just like they did me, and you’ll never see him again.”

Dalarine stared at him, at the sound of shifting gears on his brace, the way his tags swung in the space between his body and the threshold of her house. His tone and expression was as direct and precise as a soldier’s and while Dalarine seemed to have no problem shutting Betty down, it was clear that she couldn’t do the same for Jughead. 

“Please,” said Dalarine. “I have the rest of my family to think of, as well. Vivek, my son in the ESDC, he is strong, and I can tell him to watch out for himself, but who will protect my younger boys? If the ESDC are as corrupt as you say they are, they will not stop with him.”

“We’ll protect you,” Jughead said, without hesitation. “I know people who can watch you while this is all going down. I have a sister who can sweep your devices for bugs and make sure nothing gets through. I can give you a line to your son and warn him without the ESDC knowing. Work with us and we won’t abandon you.”

Betty held her breath, saw the way Dalarine was listening to him--trusting him. This is why she missed partnering with Jughead. Force and intimidation was a last resort for him. He believed in the goodness of people and he appealed to that, first.

Dalarine’s lips pursed, then she turned to Betty. “It was your father who called me,” she said. “To his office, where I met him by hologram. He told me what needed to be done. He showed me my son’s file on a digital screen, straight from the ESDC systems, which tells me someone from inside the ESDC gave him that file to show to me.” 

“Do you remember the date? The time?”

“Look into my work calendar. It’s in there--about a month and a half ago. That is all I know. I will give you the files for the trace I scrubbed, but not here. I will mail them to you. Now please, leave.”

Betty surreptitiously shoved a thumb drive into Dalarine’s hand. “Use this. Plug this in your computer the moment you close this door and we can protect you digitally. You can send the files, then. We can communicate without them knowing. We’ll send someone to watch you and your kids, 24/7, until we can confirm you aren’t in danger. We’ll be right out here until that replacement comes, okay?”

Dalarine took the thumb drive but she did continue to shove the door close. They let her, the door shutting with a tight bang. 

Betty exchanged looks with Jughead as they left Dalarine’s stoop, heading for their crafts that were parked on the curb. 

“You still got it, Jones,” she said. She tried not to smile, in case anyone was watching. They didn’t want to let on that they had gotten anything from Dalarine at this point. 

Equally as serious, he looked around casually as he said, “You know it.”

 

************************

 

Betty thought back on the last few days, which have, effectively, pushed them further in the investigation than it had in weeks. 

Just as she thought, finding that connection her father had with Ben Button was the main thread that began to untangle the web. 

Dalarine seemed like such a small player. She didn’t know anything apart from being told to cover up a trace, but the information she sent them, about what she was asked to do, when she was asked to do it, and by whom, opened a floodgate. 

Jellybean was able to follow the trails, reverse engineering the scrub and gathering trace data that Betty was able to piece together. Betty and Jellybean had been brainstorming over data for weeks, but now they had Jughead looking over their shoulders to pick out the ESDC players. 

He was a captain in the ESDC and he didn’t have the rank to be privy to the power plays of those higher up, but his commanding officer, Major Weatherbee appeared to have some insight on  _ something _ , if not everything.

Jughead said he could get the information they needed from Weatherbee.

Coordinating a plan with Joaquin, Fangs, and Sweetpea who had quicker access to Earth than he did, they arranged a meeting with Major Weatherbee in a nondescript, abandoned warehouse, where they sat him in front of a comm.

Linked by a secure connection, untraceable through most channels, Jughead and Betty watched as Joaquin and Fangs, their faces concealed by ski masks and their voices distorted by equipment, ripped a sackcloth off Major Weatherbee’s head as the senior officer demanded what the meaning of this was. 

“I wasn’t exactly expecting that you’d kidnap him,” Betty muttered to Jughead amidst Weatherbee’s outraged cries. 

Jughead shrugged. “Babe, you didn’t seriously think he would answer these questions voluntarily, would you?”

“Right. Silly me.”

Betty imagined a craft coming out of nowhere and three guys in ski masks asking him nicely to join them in the van for a brief discussion. Knowing how Joaquin, Fangs, and Sweet Pea worked, that probably wasn’t out of the ordinary for them.

Staring at Major Weatherbee’s angry visage on the comm, Jughead seemed visibly surprised. Betty didn’t think there was anything amiss about the major, with his stern facial expression and gray roundneck shirt, but she realized that this was probably the first time Jughead had ever seen his boss out of uniform. In a structured setting like the ESDC, that must be jarring.

“Evening, sir,” Jughead said, his tone casual, but still with that military lilt—firm, formal, without a trace of unease.

Major Weatherbee, upon finally pausing in his tirade to stare into the comm, was shocked quiet. He said nothing at first, then his scowl carved ridges into his face. 

“Pilot,” said the major, in a low growl. “Are you responsible for, not only this extreme act of insubordination, but this criminal abduction?”

Betty winced, but Jughead seemed completely unbothered. He nodded without hesitating. “I am. Nobody is going to hurt you unless I say so. You just need to answer my questions. You do that, and maybe we’ll be all even.”

“Even?”

“You sent me on that mission to die, major. Me and six others. I am the only one who survived.”

The lie about Harvey was an easy decision. The most important person in Harvey’s life already knew he was alive. That would be enough for Harvey for the meantime.

Major Weatherbee’s brows tightened, his eyes briefly turning downward before looking up again. “You should stay dead, Jones. It’s safer for you that way.” He said this in a subdued tone. 

Jughead nodded somberly. “I know, but I got a bone to pick with the ESDC.”

“There are much bigger forces at work here. Hunker down. Let them forget about you.”

Jughead frowned, his fist balling tight as the only indication of his rage. “Six lives should count for something, sir.  _ My  _ life should’ve counted for something. I was forced into slavery for weeks, subject to physical and psychological torture, and if it were just me, I might let it drop, but I had to watch as people’s lives were traded in for insatiable greed.”

His words hit Betty like a blade to the heart. This wasn’t new knowledge to her—about what he went through, but the words were precise. Distilled, and she would bet that he had it written down in the journals he started keeping. It was part of his therapy now, journaling, and she saw the emotional toll it took on Jughead writing in it, but he told her that it was helping him immensely. It was decluttering his head and heart, taking his trauma and putting them into written words and enabling him to organize them into boxes in his head. 

It was painful, he said, but so worth it.

Off camera, she took his hand and squeezed it. His fist loosened.

He took a deep breath and went on. “It’s not just those six soldiers, major. That entire mining operation shouldn’t exist. If the ESDC really wanted to, they’d rescue those slaves and eradicate that camp. They can eradicate dozens of them from that planet, and yet they don’t. Why is that?”

Major Weatherbee‘s jaw twitched. “What do you think, Jones? You’ve always been the smart one. Why do you think they’re still there? Why do you think you never knew these mines existed until you were sent there? And how do you think it was possible that no one else was sent to rescue you? The moment you were given the coordinates to that place, your relevance to the ESDC was erased.”

Betty could feel her own head pounding, not because Major Weatherbee scared her, but because all of their suspicions were slowly being confirmed.

Jughead sniffed, his shoulders tensing. He seemed to be bracing himself for the next question. “Did you sign the order to send me off?”

Major Weatherbee pursed his lips. “They told me to call you back to base and that was the last thing they asked of me before they removed you from my command. I knew then that was the last anyone would ever see of you.”

Betty felt the prickle of tears. The moment Jughead went back to base, his fate was sealed and no one could do anything about it.

“Those mining camps—are they ESDC funded?”

Major Weatherbee scoffed. “Not officially, of course. When you’re talking about weapons funding, you’re talking about unimaginable wealth. Taking a chunk of it, enough to fund a planet for a decade, could go unnoticed. That’s how much money is at stake here. Mining camps mean unlimited resources for creating weaponry. It means we don’t have to rely on foreign suppliers, and a chunk of that money that we would’ve used for buying materials from someone else can be diverted to the pockets of big players—like Generals, arms dealers, and God knows who else.”

“Do you have proof of this?”

The major look incensed. “Of course not. All my orders are verbal. Any document I sign gets taken away. Any data that lands in my inbox gets wiped. And even if I did have proof, I wouldn’t just give it to you. I have family to worry about, too. You put their lives at risk by kidnapping me.”

Jughead nodded. “I know you take care of your elderly mother, a brother, and his kids. This is all going down, sir, whether you like it or not. I’ve got someone who can take you and your entire family out of Earth—away from the 1st and 2nd quadrants while this is happening, and when the GBI contacts you, you can make arrangements with them about your safety.”

Major Weatherbee scowled. “The GBI?”

“We don’t have the political power to make the ESDC answer for this. The GBI does. Don’t you want to make up for what you did to me and those soldiers?”

The major’s lips tightened, but he didn’t counter Jughead’s words. “If you’re cunning enough to get access to their books—that warchest, I’d be looking in the direction of Project Gryphon and Project Gargoyle. It was Project Gargoyle that sent you on that mission, Captain.”

Jughead exchanged looks with Betty and she started entering the information on her tablet. 

“Ascension phase.” The major continued. “That was what they called the mission they sent you on. Thinking back on that day I called you in, I suppose they didn’t go for subtlety.”

They  _ had  _ access to the files. They had had access to terabytes of data, but that amount of data was impossible to sift through if they didn’t know which direction to start looking. Those codes—Project Gryphon and Project Gargoyle, Ascension—they would serve as the Rosetta Stone to begin translating what they have.

“Give me a name, Major,” Jughead asked, quietly. “Someone high up, and I will vouch for you in court.”

Major Weatherbee stared at him, perhaps wondering if he was bluffing. Jughead wasn’t and the determination in his eyes showed clearly.

“Major General Jerry Mason.”

Major General Jerry Mason had become a close associate to Hal Cooper, and Betty couldn’t help but remember how the general had shrugged her off at the beginning of her quest to rescue Jughead, how he hadn’t even given her the courtesy of telling her by direct email, or perhaps even a voice message, that he didn’t want to speak to her, that he was too busy to sit down with her.  It was Moose who told her that he could get her an appointment with his father two months later. 

When she publicly resigned in the next board meeting, she had a feeling General Mason would want to talk to her, then. 

 

**********************

 

“Hi, mom.”

The surprise was clear in Glady’s unguarded face. 

Her eyebrow arched to a point and her gaze darted to where the hailing ID would be on the screen. The name on the ID, he knew, said Jellybean. He did it on purpose--using Jellybean's hailing ID. He wasn’t sure if his mother would pick up if the ID said Jughead Jones. 

“Junior,” she said, though she still sounded uncertain, like she was still expecting someone to jump out from behind Jughead and tell her this was a joke, that her son didn’t actually want to talk to her, that it was Jellybean in disguise.

He couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t been in the habit of hailing Gladys on the comm in a little over a decade. 

“You cut your hair,” she said, perhaps for lack of anything else to say.

He combed his fingers through the short strands. “They, ugh, buzzed my hair at the camps. Kept the lice away.”

He knew that Gladys wasn’t completely in the dark about what happened to him. Betty had mentioned that she had spoken to Gladys about him, and Jellybean surely kept her abreast, but he could imagine that details like getting his hair chopped off was kept out of the conversations for more important details.

“It’s growing out,” he added, awkwardly. 

Gladys nodded. “Yeah. Longer looks better on you. Not that it matters, ultimately.”

A brief silence befell them and Jughead inwardly cursed at how he should’ve thought better about how he was going to proceed. 

He started to talk again. So did Gladys, and their words mangled one another’s. Then he was apologizing, and so was she. 

_ Jesus Christ.  _

“You go first,” he said, finally, distressed at his total inability to have an easy discussion with his own mother. 

“I just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re home, safe. I knew if there was anyone who could get you back, it would be Betty. She came to me for help during those first weeks you were gone and, you know--you’re my son. Of course I’d do what I can.”

Suddenly, he didn’t know what to do with that. He had hailed his mother, wanting to thank her for what she did for him because it was the decent thing to do. She certainly didn’t need to explain herself to him, and he hadn’t expected anything more than that, but now that they were in this conversation, he realized how utterly unprepared he was for all the other things they hadn’t said to one another in the last ten years.

_ You’re my son. Of course I’d do what I can, _ she said. 

What did that even mean after she abandoned him so thoughtlessly all those years ago? It mattered once, when he was young and alone and he didn’t know what to do, but he’d made it so it wouldn’t matter anymore, but for her to say something like,  _ You’re my son. Of course I’d do what I can,  _ felt a little like a slap to the face just now.

But he had a choice. He could tell her to go fuck herself, which might be justified, or he could man up and thank her for what she did to rescue him. He chose, through feelings of exhaustion and emotional budgeting, the latter. “Thanks. For doing what you did. You went above and beyond. You could lose your job over this, I know.”

She snorted, softly. “I suppose. Easy enough for me to keep it on the down low. Nobody will find out unless you guys rat on me, which I know isn’t going to happen.  Worse comes to worst, if I do get fired, at least I don’t have to worry about putting food on the table for my kids…”

She was trying to keep it light and casual, but the visual hit him,  _ again, _ that stark recollection of how dinners were at the Jones trailer when he was ten and Jellybean was 2, FP noticeably absent and Gladys putting together the cheapest, easiest meals she could manage. Boxed up macaroni and cheese was a mainstay, and when she had a few more dollars to spare, she added chopped up pieces of boiled broccoli, which Jughead ate without complaint. There were weeks when the rotisserie chicken went on sale at the grocery store and she bought all the birds she could afford, turning them into different chicken meals with other cheap ingredients. On their worst days, she’d bring home packets of ramen, sometimes squares of beef or chicken bouillons so they could at least have broth to go with some pasta. 

He remembered, distinctly, how tired she was.  All the time. 

He supposed his mother taking Jellybean and leaving him during his stint in juvie was the best compromise, from her point of view. He was 15 when he went into juvie, 16 when he got out because his sentence cut through his birthday, and at that point, he was not inexperienced. He did manage to survive juvie, his drunk father, and the lack of adult supervision relatively unscathed, but was it too much to ask to have a parent to turn to, at least until he signed up for the ESDC at 17? 

“Was I too much for you then? When you left?” He wasn’t angry about it anymore, but he always wondered why she never tried to get him back.  

Gladys sighed, and she shook her head, gazing down at her hands. “Ah, Jug… I had every intention of taking you in after juvie, but I--I wasn’t in a great place. I could hide things from Jelly--she was so young and we--you, me--we sheltered her good. She didn’t start to know things until she was about 13, but at the time I was-- _ hustling _ , you were 15, and I knew I couldn’t hide things from you. You’d know the things I did--be ashamed of your mom, and because of the people that surrounded me, you might have gotten involved with those lowlifes, yourself.” 

He wished she hadn’t assumed so much about him. “I wouldn’t have been ashamed of you, mom. No matter what you were doing.”

She blew a breath through her lips. “I don’t know about that, Junior. It was bad.  _ I  _ was ashamed, and I didn’t want you to grow up remembering you had a mother who did the things I did. I hated what I had to do, but I needed the money, and the whole time I kept telling myself that I’d get you back as soon as I can find a way to earn money properly, but I couldn’t get out of that life soon enough, and before I knew it, you had enlisted with the ESDC, and I figured… you were better off.”

“I could have helped you out, and I could’ve had a family.”

The press of her lips, and the way her eyes looked at him directly, resigned to the past, made him feel incredibly sad. “Yeah. I screwed that one up, too. I’m sorry I did you so wrong, kid. I can only try to make up for it.”

He’d had this kind of conversation with is father in the past, and he’d forgiven FP for what were arguably worse transgressions. FP had been a negligent father, an alcoholic, and a convict. At least Gladys had taken care of him and Jellybean as best she could--until she couldn’t. 

“Look, Jug. You don’t have to forgive me for what I did to you.” Gladys sighed and seemed to be uncapping a beer.  “What I did was shitty and you had to live with it. You are who you are, a good man, without help from me or FP. Your father and I are proud of you, for what it’s worth, and you don’t owe either of us a damn thing. If you need my help, I’m here for you. How about we start with that?”

Jughead was surprised at the sense of relief his mother’s words brought. He wasn’t prepared to think of his mother as forgiven. He wasn’t angry at her, but this one conversation wasn’t going to erase the years she had been gone from his life. So it was good to say this was a “start”, and then maybe in a couple of years, they could look back and think that they had actually built something better between them.

Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s start with that.”

 

***************************

 

Betty took a deep breath, steadying her pulse as she waited for Polly’s hail on her comm. Around her, outside of the comm’s camera, sat the Joneses in various states of unease. 

“You’re going to do great, Betty,” Jughead said, squeezing her shoulder.

The firm clasp of his hand gave her so much comfort, and she wasn’t scared. She wasn’t even nervous, but she was buzzing with energy. This felt like going after a bounty and she was ready.  _ So  _ ready.

FP nodded. “We’re here for you, kid. Polly has your back, too.”

Betty nodded. “I know.”

She felt prepared, especially now wearing a corporate suit and her hair arranged into a pristine French twist, but also, in the last few days, the Joneses, along with Polly, have been rehearsing this scenario over and over, with various anticipated reactions and outcomes.

It was completely possible that Hal would have something up his sleeve, since Polly was pretty sure that grumblings of a takeover had reached Hal’s ears, but they had Betty’s resignation and heavy allegations of murder and conspiracy to murder as their aces. He was, possibly, only anticipating the mention of his divorce.

He had no idea that Betty was going to resign. He’ll also be surprised to know that they had delivered information to the same journalist who exposed Nick St. Claire about the six Def Cor soldiers and its one pilot who weren’t meant to return. Hal hadn’t the faintest clue that the journalist had information that implicated the ESDC representatives Hal associated with, and that the journalist had proof of their involvement in not one but several mining operations in Kestra Prime. 

It will eventually come as a shock to the ESDC when the GBI’s anti-slavery task force starts knocking on their doors, because evidence has been found to support the journalist's expose on people being forced into labor to line the pockets of some of ESDC’s most respected generals.

It will eventually happen that Hal would be arrested for the attempted murder of one Forsythe Pendleton Jones III.

Alice had already served up her divorce and the board meeting’s main agenda was about how the news would be delivered to their stockholders, and then to the public.

When the news breaks about Hal’s crimes and his associations with the corrupt generals of the ESDC, they would all be swept into the storm. The Cooper children were aware that they were going to share the blame for their father’s transgressions, but Penny was ready to soften the blow and a plan was in place to take the Coopers out of Earth--out of the 1st and 2nd Quadrants. 

The comm signaled a hail and Betty knew it was time.

When Betty accepted the hail, she saw a room full of board members and senior leadership, dressed in their insanely expensive suits and understated office jewelry. Their faces were stern, as Polly had already worked them up into a state of corporate alarm with Hal’s divorce.

Hal, at the head of the table, looked livid, but the sight of Betty on the widescreen comm in the boardroom was no doubt a shock. “Elizabeth. I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

Betty showed a more genteel demeanor, to appease the perceptions of the predominantly older and male members in the room. It must be grating on their senses, that Hal’s daughters were rising up to oust him. 

“I was a last minute addition to the agenda,” she said, in her very corporate lilt. “I apologize to the members of the board for encroaching on all your very busy schedules. This won’t take long. I’ve come to tender my resignation.”

The board immediately went into a quiet frenzy, and Hal’s face began to turn purple. “Elizabeth! Dorothy, did you—“

“She’s not finished, dad,” Polly interjected.

Betty took a deep, resounding breath. This was it, the moment she would speak the fiery speech she had prepared. This would be the first time anyone was going to hear it.  It was either going to be very powerful, or she would be the laughing stock of the board. 

She began. “In view of what happened in my last resignation, I wanted to make sure that everyone on the board is immediately apprised of my status in this company. As of this moment, I am no longer an employee of Cooper Gestalt.” 

The murmurs started again and for a moment, she thought about waiting for their voices to die down, but Jughead gave her the nod to go on. She raised her voice to cut through the buzz.

“It would be in the interest of everybody present to know this, first hand.” The drone of private conversation began to die dow.  “My reasons for leaving are simple--the values of my father no longer align with mine. When I started working for his company, he told me he wanted this company to extend to the far reaches of space, where our company would be a household name across all the quadrants. I took this challenge to heart and because of it, I created the Forever Engine. I did it because I had a vision of cleaner planetary atmospheres, sustainable industry for all, and to give developing nations the ability to provide for its people, independent of profiteers and opportunists, because I know that if we gave people the means to lift themselves up, they will lift us, too, and we  _ will  _ become that household name my father told me he wanted us to be. Not only will they be able to afford the machines we build, but they would turn to us if they needed new ones. Trust is a universal currency. Trust is what I believed would get us across the quadrants.” 

She paused, meeting Polly’s eyes for, perhaps, approval. Her sister’s nod was encouraging, so she continued. “My father decided that instead of building trust with our customers, he would provide weapons to war mongers--using me and my engine to secure contracts with generals who care nothing about the people they send off to war or the non-combatants who get caught in the crossfire. They care only about lining their pockets with blood money. Their greed allows them to justify their associations with slave traders, murderers, rapists, kidnappers, and corrupt governments.”

She heard the tremble in her voice, felt the anger in her heart, and realized that her fingers had curled into fists. Her emotions were getting ahead of her, and Polly’s eyes had grown a little wide with surprise, and for a moment, Betty thought she had gone overboard. 

But Polly nodded, even dumbfounded, and said, “Please continue.”

Betty, empowered, did. “I refuse to be part of any of that. I will not be party to that corruption. My resignation is only the first step.  My next step is to rid myself of the company, altogether. I and my brother, Charles Cooper, have started the process of selling our shares to my sister, Dorothy Cooper, who will, after my mother’s divorce from my father is finalized in court, acquire Alice Cooper’s shares as well. She will have more shares than  _ anyone  _ in this company by week’s end, and it would be in everyone’s best interest to remember that. My third and final step is to expose my father’s--” she swallowed, willing her voice to speak louder, “--involvement in the attempted murder of Captain Forsythe Pendleton Jones III and Private Harvey Kinkle of the ESDC. Hal Cooper, along with other ESDC cohorts, will answer for the attempt on Captain Jones's and Private Kinkle's lives, and the deaths of five other soldiers.”

The uproar was instantaneous. Hal rose from his seat, demanding to cut off the link, with one half of the boardroom demanding answers and the other half yelling to let Betty continue.  

“Documented proof has been sent to a journalist of the New York Galactic!” Betty cried above the din, her shoulders square and meeting Hal’s enraged stare. “Any day now the papers will break with this explosive story, and I urge you to take drastic measures to inoculate the company from Hal Cooper’s taint and influence. I, along with Charles Cooper, will step down from this company. Your only chance of surviving the fallout will be to trust Dorothy Cooper and rid the company of Hal Cooper  _ today _ .”

_ “Elizabeth!”  _ Hal Cooper growled from his end of the room. “Dorothy! How dare you both defy me like this! I gave you both  _ everything  _ and this is how you repay me?”

Betty felt her stomach flip, sick with outrage. She wanted to yell at him, to scream from the top of her lungs that he was willing to commit murder to get what he wanted and that fact, above all, poisoned everything he ever claimed to do for her. 

“Father,” Polly said in a voice that cut through Betty’s anger. “Your issues with Betty and I have been noted, but I’m afraid  _ that  _ is not on the agenda today.” She said this with all the calm and poise of a seasoned king slayer. 

Hal stared at Polly in clear surprise. 

“Betty,” Polly said. “Thank you for your statement and for joining our proceedings today. I will contact you shortly after this meeting is concluded.” She gave Betty a wink, and out of everything, that might have shocked Betty the most. On any other day, Polly simply did not wink.

The comm blinked close and only then did Betty let out a breath of utter relief.

“Betty,” Jughead said, getting up take her by the shoulders and soothe the tension from them with the warm press of his hands. “That was incredible. I--that was incredible.”

FP let out a breath. “You knocked that out of the park, kid.” 

“Holy crap,” Jellybean piped up, jaw still hanging open. “Is that how rich people fight?”

Betty sank into the captain’s chair and gave a huff of amusement. “Yes, especially if their father is psycho.”

 

******************

 

Her loft was a place of reflection, a place where she could sit, watch space float by, and meditate, to think about the things that had happened and may happen. It was peaceful, and that loft gave her so much comfort when Jughead was deployed, and then went missing. 

She was momentarily distracted from that rest, however. She was watching a viral video Polly had sent her, where after the story about the ESDC broke, hours after the fateful board meeting that ousted Hal Cooper, the GBI stormed through the Cooper Gestalt building and arrested their father. 

Hal Cooper’s involvement with the ESDC began to take shape in the papers and news media within three days of his arrest. 

Betty knew that Penny Peabody had a plan ready to protect the rest of the Coopers’ reputations. Betty didn’t want to care, but she did, and she worried about what that would be like for her sister, brother, and mother. 

Out in the deep reaches of space, Betty felt removed from the storm. And while the rest of her family, for safety reasons, were already flown to a distant, undisclosed planet on the edge of the 2nd and 3rd quadrant, they would still have to face the media hurricane head-on, albeit remotely. If they wanted to separate themselves from Hal’s deeds, they couldn’t just batten down the hatches. They needed to be able to communicate that, “Yes, I divorced him,” and “Yes, we fully acknowledge he’s awful and would like you to know we don’t condone murder, slavery, kidnapping, or rape,” and most significantly: “Yes,  _ we  _ blew the whistle on our own father.”

That last narrative was, perhaps, the most important bit.

There have been countless tales of rich men caught doing the wrong thing, and time and time again, their families got dragged down with him. It was interesting how a man’s good and great deeds were often fully attributed to him alone, while a man’s evil doings seemed to be shouldered by the entirety of his family.  

Betty swore that this would not be the case with them, because they did not turn just a blind eye to Hal’s evil schemes, they acted on it and protected others from the fallout. They weren’t heroes--they didn’t claim to be, but they weren’t party to Hal’s crimes. 

Betty watched a few more of the streaming news shows, airing panels of serious anchor men and women, self-proclaimed experts, and flimsy eyewitnesses to remotely related events, discussing the allegations of mining operations in the far reaches of the 4th Quadrant and how they used slaves to mine materials for weaponry.

“How much further does this go, Jim?” asked an anchorwoman to her colleague. “How deep is the corruption?”

The questions were almost all the same across the stations. The topic lended very little to variety, clearly.

Some news sources chose to focus on the related story of what they were now calling the Ascension Mission—the seven servicemen sent to their deaths. The connection being reported between Jughead and the coverup was still tenuous, but as the days went by, the connection will become clearer.

The ESDC already made their statements, about how they did not tolerate this type of operation, and that they would see the perpetrators of this crime sent to justice. Superimposed at the bottom of the screen, a window showed generals being escorted into vehicles to be brought to detainment facilities, where they would await court martial.

Cooper Gestalt Corp. made its own statement, as well, announcing that even before Hal Cooper’s arrest, he was no longer Chairman of the Board and CEO of the company. Their statement was brief, but direct, meant to minimize damage to its stocks. 

It was the celebrity gossip columns that were, in fact, making the connection between Jughead and Hal, how Hal may have perpetuated the assassination to keep his daughter under his employment and control.

“Betty Cooper cannot be reached for comment.”

There was no way she would answer any inquiries from TMC. 

The sound of engine room doors groaned through the room, and the heavy tread of Jughead’s gait echoed. He was getting used to his brace, his limp barely discernible by sound. His stiff leg still meant he couldn’t run on the field, but he wasn’t going to let that fact keep him from being Betty’s back up. 

She heard him climbing the loft and she shut the videos off.  

When he emerged from the hatch, she managed a smile for him. 

“Figured you were here,” he said. His tone was already soft and sympathetic. He knew what she was doing, holed up in her loft. “I don’t know if you should be watching those videos alone, Betty.”

She couldn’t hide things from him, and really, she shouldn’t. He wouldn’t judge and he had an intimate knowledge of all events. These were about him as much as they were about her, if not more. But she didn’t want him to have to listen to the ESDC speculations and allegations. They were reminders of his time on Kestra Prime, and as much as she knew those memories were burned into his brain, he didn’t need to be unnecessarily triggered by any of it. 

She urged him up with a tilt of her chin and he immediately took her wordless invitation. His leg brace required a bit of maneuvering, but he’d made it up here countless times with the brace. He was expert at threading his leg through the hatch by now. 

He settled beside her by the lookout, and she made him comfortable with pillows and blankets. She looked at his face, seeing the shadows under his eyes but significantly lightened from before. She could see that the hollows in his cheeks were improved by the diet she had put everyone on--she had to dig deep for that part of Alice in her that made those healthy meals and expected everyone to eat it. His hair was longer, though still far from the delightfully luscious curls he had before the Def Cor first called him back.

She looked at the blue in his eyes. They were brilliant. She took pride in how well she was taking care of him and how he was taking care of himself.  

“Are you alright?” he asked after she had stared at him for an uncomfortable length of time.

She nodded. “I’m good. Polly and the kids are safe. Mom and Chic, too. They just arrived in Anglia--they’re exhausted by all the skipping around and diversionary maneuvering they had to do to get there, but they’re secured… and as an aside, Kevin dumped Moose. Veronica just messaged me. I hope it isn’t because Moose is involved in all of this...”

The observant look in his eyes didn’t ease in the least. “You’re family’s safe. What else is bothering you?”

She took his hand and squeezed it. “I worry about your safety, too. The cat’s out of the bag. You’re alive. Harvey’s alive. You’re a witness and--”

His hand came up to smooth back her hair, the warmth of his palm easing the tension from her body. “You don’t need to worry so much about me anymore, especially because everything’s blown wide open.” 

“It’s not just you, Jug.”

“Major Weatherbee and his family are being protected by the GBI. Dalarine and  _ all  _ her sons, too have been secured for protection. It’s out of your hands, Betty.”

He was right, of course. The moment the news story broke, there was only so much control they could keep. “Has the lawyer been keeping you updated?” 

He nodded, the gentle tilt of his lips soothing to her nerves. “Every day. I’ll have to talk to the GBI soon, and that’s expected, right? It’s all moving in the direction we anticipated. It’s going to be very busy the next few months.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “I still can’t believe this is happening and I just feel like I should be with Polly and the others. It’s like I threw them all into the eye of the storm while I sit out here and--”

“Hey, hey…” His quiet tone cut through her anxiety. “Baby, don’t do that to yourself. Don’t build yourself a tower of guilt. And I told you, if you want us to fly to them, just say the word and we’ll bring you--”

“Jug, even where they are, it’s too dangerous for  _ you _ . Out here you’re safer.”

He nodded, his hand gesture suggesting that he knew all that. “Do  _ you  _ want to fly to Anglia to be with your family?”

Her stomach twisted at that. The conflict inside her was real. “I do, but I can’t leave, Jug. We have a set up, here. Therapist approved, remember?”

“Betty.”

“You’re making so much progress. I don’t want to derail it by disrupting the routine.”

He was mentally and physically improved, yes, but he still spaced out and she could still see the effort he made to overcome his mood swings. There were still times that he would go quiet and excuse himself, then he’d tell her later on what had caused it or write it down in his journals. There have been a couple of instances where he’d snapped back at her or the others, but he was quick to apologize, and she knew he would process it with his therapist at his next session. 

His battle was still an uphill one, but he had tools. He had someone to help him push through. The people around him understood his struggle. And as much as he was working with his therapist to learn how to cope on his own, Betty didn’t mind helping to ease him into the deep end of the pool, as opposed to pushing him in it by suddenly packing her bags and leaving, even if it was just temporary.

He shook his head and squeezed her by her shoulders. “Betty, as important as you are to me in what my therapist calls ‘my journey to healing’--” he said this with a slight roll of his eyes and that signature smirk that she loved so much, “--I think it would benefit both of us to get you out of this headspace, the one where everything you do is being planned around me.”

“Oh,  _ but--” _

“Betty.” His pointed eyebrow quieted her protest. “I say this with great love and respect. I think that between my therapist, my dad, and my sister, I can manage without you for a few weeks.” He pretended to give it a brief thought. “But promise to comm me everyday?”

She felt loved. His words were soothing and she could feel most of the weight of her concerns lifting off her shoulders, but she was so worried about him still. “I  _ would  _ comm you more than once a day, but are you sure--”

“I’m sure. I’ll miss the hell out of you but your family will appreciate you being there with them right now.”

“I love you. You know that, right?” She wrapped herself around him. “And maybe I’m also a little afraid of being out there without you. Polly, Chic, and the kids, I can handle, but being with mom in a cramped space… she’ll be vile. And at some point, I just know I’d have to confront my psycho father...”

He said nothing. He didn’t exactly disagree. He’d had too many therapy sessions where he had discussed the benefits of facing fears head-on. 

She also knew that she’d been referring to Hal as her “psycho father” to separate herself from the memories of him as her actual dad. As fucked up as Hal had been back then, raising them all, she never thought of him as a murderer. Not until now.  

“God,” she breathed. “To think I wanted his approval for a large chunk of my life.”

He took her hand in his. “He was your dad, Betts, and he deliberately conditioned you all to need his approval.”

Betty knew Jughead was right. Hal had made his approval their currency. A means to divide and conquer. It wasn’t her fault that she had wanted to make him proud. He had manipulated everybody into giving him what he wanted and now that they were all taking back their respective narratives, he was probably outraged at losing control of the kingdom he built.

“It’s going to be a little tough getting anywhere without you guys flying me in.”

“Well, we  _ could--” _

_ “No.” _

He sighed. “We can drop you off at the edge of--”

“No, Juggie. Too close. I think the only reason at all that I was able to interrogate Chuck and Dalarine without any repercussions to them was because they were all the way out in the middle of the 3rd. I’m not going to let you get any nearer than that. I plan to enlist the House of the Dead to drop me off at the Romulus star system then make my way to Anglia from there.”

Jughead groaned. “I was afraid you were going to say that. God, Malachi is going to have a fucking  _ field  _ day.”

She tilted a withering gaze at him. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I  _ know _ , but it’s the principle of the thing--”

“You are hilarious and ridiculous, and I’ll miss you harder every time Malachi says something inappropriate.”

Jughead rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You’re sweet.”

She kissed the underside of his chin. “I  _ know _ . Now let’s stream something dumb to watch. Like something really brainless, so I don’t have to think.”

“Something with sparkly vampires and dead-eyed heroines.”

“You read my mind.”

 

******************

 

A week before Betty was scheduled to be picked up by the House of the Dead, Jughead told her that there were reports of an exploding star about 500 light years away and that he thought she might like to see it. 

“We’d be one of the few in the universe who can watch it up close,” he said, his eyes bright with excitement. 

Of course, by “up close” he meant about 4 light years away, which still meant 24 trillion miles away.  The explosion, he said, spanned about 1 light year from the epicenter, so even so far away, it would be a spectacular sight for them to see.  

It was a 5 hour flight going at warp speed on an old Driaden fighter craft, which Jughead just “happened to have access” to. 

Betty had given him a pointed stare. “Juggie, whatever illegal deal you had to make for the use of that craft is totally not worth it…”

He scoffed. “I didn’t have to do anything illegal…  _ that I know of.” _

She frowned. She’d had about enough of the scum of the universe to develop zero patience for misdemeanors and hijinx of any kind. 

Perhaps seeing the look of displeasure slowly forming on her face, he hastily offered an explanation. “Pop hooked me up and he told me this is absolutely legit.”

Betty’s side-eye could have cut neatly through glass, but he looked so eager to use the spacecraft for travel to this star explosion that she didn’t really have the heart to protest any further. Besides, she wanted to see a supernova, and it helped immensely that this alien fighter craft came with a day’s worth of delicious Pop’s burgers, milkshakes, and chips. 

The inside of an old Driaden spaceship was fascinating. While humans were quick to catch up on space age vehicles once they’d figured out how to harness warp speed, each species used markedly different materials to apply their science and technology. 

Betty has had the opportunity to look at spacecrafts from different planets and it was always a thrilling experience for her, but it was rare that she had the opportunity to observe a  _ fighter  _ craft sourced from the 4th quadrant. 

“The best thing about this fighter craft,” Jughead said as he strapped himself into the pilot’s seat. “Is that it takes two to maneuver it. You’ll need to sit in the navigator’s chair. That cool?”

_ Cool  _ was the biggest understatement of Betty’s life. She strapped herself to the navigator chair without a word and, almost in a state of hypnosis, began to manipulate the touchscreens on her dash. 

They set a course for the Fyre star system, the site of the exploding star, and the entire time they weren’t jumping through naturally occurring wormholes, they were traveling at warp speed. Most of the time they spent traveling, they were set at autopilot. Occasionally, they would course correct, and there were times they had to stop and manually make their way through their route, but their craft was so intuitive that it was like having their own chauffeur. 

Betty spent a lot of time examining the ship’s interior, as well, perhaps opening panels when she had the chance to look deeper. 

It wasn’t a compact fighter craft. Both of them can stand in its cockpit, with room to spare to sit on the floor and enjoy their takeout, but she was going to make the most of her time on that craft. 

“You find the most advanced technology in weaponry,” she said in a hushed tone. “We’re so quick to use technology to destroy.”

He didn’t disagree.  

She let that passing thought wane quickly. They were there to enjoy themselves, for her to marvel at this craft, and for them to make the most out of each other’s company before she had to go to her family and he had to stay on the Wyrm.

Besides, they were going to watch a star exploding. It couldn’t get more spectacular and special than that.

This was perhaps a once-in-a-human-lifetime event. 

They arrived at their destination point just a few minutes shy of 5 hours, and as they settled the ship within view of the explosion, Jughead set the controls at stasis. The dash powered down, keeping only the basic functions in operation: oxygen, heat, cabin pressure, and communications. It also allowed the ship to stay suspended and locked in place, anchoring itself to the dark matter of space.

Betty could hardly breathe at the sight that was splayed all across their view.

Spectacular nebulae in the most wondrous colors fanned out from a singular point, like a gigantic butterfly in flight. The clouds looked effervescent from afar, pulsing luminous colors at each ripple, but it blew Betty’s mind that the violence and intensity of natural destruction, the explosive reaction of unstable gasses and planetary debris flung into space by the forces of nature, could look so beautiful from afar. If they were a couple of light years closer, they would be engulfed in its glory and obliterated from existence. 

“Physics is terrifying and awesome,” she breathed, pressing her palms flat against the craft’s viewing shield. If she looked a certain way, it looked like clouds fanning out from her hand. “If humans can find a way to monitor all the stars in the universe, we’d be able to predict where the next star would explode, and then if we can create a machine powerful enough to withstand the blast of a supernova, that same machine can collect an immeasurable supply of materials, the likes of which span the known table of elements, and we’d never have to mine a single acre of planet ever again…”

She took a moment to absorb the magnitude of witnessing the death of a star before realizing that Jughead hadn’t said a thing. 

She chuckled, tearing her eyes away from the supernova. “Have I finally geeked you out?”

The look on his face suggested anything but. The adoration in his gaze was clear, and it was reasonable for her to assume that he had brought her here specifically because he knew she would geek out on it just like this, but he looked so content, seeing her so happy, perhaps.

She loved him all over again for that, for wanting to show her things that delighted and fascinated her, for always taking her on these side adventures just because he wanted to see the look on her face. He enabled her endless curiosity and fed her thirst for space phenomenon. 

And this supernova--it was incredible and special. So,  _ so _ special.

When it began to dawn on her that people didn’t just talk about supernovas happening the next star system over at the watercooler, that he had to actively look for an event horizon like this to know that it was even occurring, she realized that this was  _ not  _ just a random adventure. There was a reason he brought her here, and she could think of only one thing that may warrant this degree of effort. 

She gasped upon realizing exactly why he had sought the most amazing light show in the universe and chased it with her. “Jug.”

“You know why we’re here, right?”

She tried to speak, but she was so overcome by love, by everything they’ve been through to get here, that she was afraid that her voice would crack and it would ruin the moment, so she just nodded, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. 

His adam’s apple visibly bobbed and he took a deep breath.  “I swear I had a whole speech planned.” He was whispering, because his own eyes were liquid and it was more than likely that neither of them was going to get through this without completely losing their composure. “But I can’t remember a single word of it right now.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, going to him--supernova forgotten--and cupping his face between her hands. They shared a long and slow kiss, holding each other and letting the unspoken words come to them at its own time.  

When finally, they paused for breath, Jughead was smiling down at her upturned face, noses rubbing lightly. “I want to ask you something.”

She grinned. “Ask me.”

He dug for something in his pocket and she giggled softly when he struggled with the corners of the box, but he finally had it out a second later, holding it between them and opening it to reveal the familiar looking ring nestled inside it. 

“Betty Cooper, my hero, my geeky, brilliant rocket scientist, and captain of my ship, will you marry me?” 

“Jughead Jones, my inspiration, my rock, and my cowboy,” she replied, then she pressed her lips to his before saying, “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

She could feel him smiling through their kiss, but she kept their lips together, prolonging their intimacy, sucking in his breath, loving him for the intensity of his passion, the preciousness of how he chose  _ this specific event  _ in the universe to propose, and rejoicing at how, in spite of all his struggles these past few weeks, he rediscovered his faith in her, that she would accept him and be his partner for life. Of all his hard-fought battles of late, this was one he could say he won. 

When they finally pulled apart, it was so that he could slip the ring around her finger, and when she looked at it in awe, like a piece of space tethered to her hand, she admired it like she’d never seen it before. 

And maybe she hadn’t. When she discovered that ring in his shoe, she had been too caught up in the tragedy of his loss and the What Might Have Beens. She had looked at the ring through her tears and grief. She hadn’t taken the time to appreciate the kind of ring he’d chosen for her. 

Now there was so much joy and wonder in her heart, so many things yet to do, so many challenges to overcome, but they were where they were meant to be, together, strong, hopeful, and happy  _ in spite  _ of the darkness surrounding them. 

“I love you, Betty Cooper,” he said. 

“Jughead Jones, I love you,” she whispered back. There were no better words at the moment. 

They were in the far reaches of space, front row seats to one of the most spectacular light shows space had to offer, so rarely witnessed by living creatures all across the universe, and they were sealing their promises to one another, lips pressed together, hands cupping each other’s faces, as a supernova raged in the background.

When they paused for breath, Betty saw the glimmer in his eyes, right before he hefted her in his arms. She shrieked with delight, wrapping herself around him and kissing him breathless. 

“We’ve never done it in a fighter craft with a supernova in the background,” he gasped, sucking on the skin of her throat as he deposited her on the ship’s dash.

She smiled and hurriedly began to undo the buttons of his shirt. “I’d have been disappointed in you if you passed up the chance. It’s the only way we should celebrate our engagement tonight.”

He gathered her shirt in his hands and pulled it off her body. “We’re gonna celebrate so hard.”

His lips sought the valley of her breasts and she felt the warmth of his hands splayed against her back. She smiled as she tugged a lobe of his ear gently between her teeth. “Show me what you got, cowboy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may be wondering if there's more to this universe. 
> 
> And my only response is, how could there not be? They just got engaged! They only just put Hal away and shook the ESDC at the core! I can't just leave it at that!
> 
> So many other stories to tell. Happier ones, too (hopefully). 
> 
> Cowboy Jones isn't done flying, just yet.


End file.
